Lómëlen
by Jenna Linda
Summary: ON HIATUS. FOR NOW. Lómëlen they named her: dusk star, lonely star. She hated the songs; she hated hearing her pain sung for all to hear but most of all she hated to remember what she had lost, thats why she travels, why she is here. Pre/during/post LotR
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: "Lómëlen they named her: dusk star, lonely star. She hated the songs; she hated hearing her pain sung for all to hear... but most of all she hated to remember what she had lost, that's why she travels, why she is here" Will take place ****before,**** during and after the War of the Ring.**

**I am posting this now, despite my original plans, so that I can get a bit of feedback for this story so I can improve it. Any help, ANY, is fantastic. This includes anything you liked, any ideas it brings to you, any suggestions, any criticisms - I really don't mind. You could say this story is in BETA. Because of that the updates may be a little slow (I orinally placed a large capitalised underlined warning here about it being a slow update story but I seem to have gone back on my words - thus I deleted it)**

**Also, for the readers of Black, White and Grey: Yes, Aríanna is very similar physically to Lara. What can I say, I never thought I would actually post this story and I happen to like silver hair.**

**I don't own, believe it or not. Massive credit goes to J. R. R. Tolkien and the many fantastic people who worked with Peter Jackson. I will work from Book verse as well as Movie verse. I will use scripting from the book or film on occasion and I also have taken inspiration, characters, script, ****and**** plot from the fan made film 'Born of Hope' (which is fantastic). **

**This chapter may seem to start slowly.**

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><p><em><strong><span>Chapter One<span>**_

_Lómëlen, Lómëlen hear her voices on the glen_

_Silken hair of star lit wind, Silver eyes of noble kin_

_Pale feet on dusken land, with blade of fire in her hand_

_Lómëlen, Lómëlen singing lone sweet Lómëlen_

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><p><em><strong>Aríanna - Present<strong>_

I was tracking a host of orcs when I heard the great horn blowing. It was a unique sound and I knew it from a memory long past, though I could not remember in what context. I jumped to my feet from where I had been studying the tracks and raced with what elvish speed was given to me. I jumped over many fallen trees and twisted down many paths. I heard the clash of armour and metal and the harsh calls of the orcs. I had not realised they were so close. The horn sounded again and I picked up my speed, unleashing Nórui (_*fiery_) as I did. The eager blade flew out and it glinted in the sun, reflecting all the fire of its making.

The screams of orcs grew louder and then, turning a sharp corner, I saw the host before me. However, they were no normal band of creatures, these were the tough kind that Saruman had been brewing, and I had heard only whispers of this new breed. I'd had suspicions, from the tracks they left, but that they were expected was no balm to my heart as I saw the horde. They were large and more proportioned like men and the scrawniness that many orcs habited had been replaced with wide brutal muscles beneath their leathery skin. In my younger years they would have shot fear to my heart but now I didn't allow such distractions.

I did not stop to think of course. I ran into the clearing but even as I did I saw that the group had began to sprint off into the forest. Just one Ura'kai was left, standing proudly in the centre of the clearing. Before him, leaning helpless against a tree was a man. My elven eyes noted the black fletches of arrows protruding from his chest and a part of my mind told me that nothing now could save him from his fast approaching doom. Around this sight many bodies of Ura'kai lay slain upon the floor. The Ura'kai was raising a cross bow, a brutal contraption that would break bones and the hardest armour. The machine was raised and pointing at the man's face.

I wasn't going to get there in time, was my desperate thought. I screamed as I continue to sprint to the beast and I saw it pause briefly. But I was not the first to reach it. Ahead of me sprang another man, dressed in dark browns and wielding a gleaming blade. He too yelled his anger as he engaged the Ura'kai.

A battle ensued and the man and I fought viciously alongside each other. It was a struggle, for this individual seemed to be the hardiest I had encountered, even when one of its arms had been severed it still fought us on both sides. At last its head fell to the floor.

The man gave little attention to me as he rushed to the side of his comrade, but I knew he had seen me, just as I'd seen him. It was startling, if not unexpected, to see him here of all places. He was dressed in his ranger garb and his skin and clothes were stained with the glutinous black blood of the orcs. But I would always recognise him. He was the mirror image of his uncle, though Arathorn's signature was there too.

Aragorn was crouching next to the paled, fair-haired man speaking softly with him. I walked away, hoping to give them a little privacy at least. I busied myself with wiping the blood from Nórui. I could still hear every word, my elf ears being keen as they ever were, but I paid them no mind. Or at least I tried not to.

"I tried to take the ring from Frodo, I have failed you"

I had heard news of the one ring on my visit to Rivendell and it surprised me that it was so close. It was not comforting either to know how close it had come to the enemy hands. I frowned though in confusion, wasn't Gandalf meant to be with the company of the ring?

"Hail Boromir, son of Denethor" I head Aragorn say and I gasped.

Today was a sad day indeed, if the heir of the steward of Gondor had passed from this world. I had heard of his conquests through the years and knew him to be a valiant man. The steward would mourn deeply for his loss, just as any father. It was now that I recalled the horn I had heard through the trees and to my mind another lord raised the mighty horn to his lips and blew it out over the land, another steward. I bowed my head and sent up a silent prayer as I heard the last breath of Boromir.

Upon the hill I sensed a new presence. I turned and looked up. There I saw two figures, as different as two people could be. There stood a tall pale elf, dressed in the semblance of a wood elf, and next to him a stocky dwarf leant against his mighty axe. Neither were looking at me, instead their faces held sorrow for the departed.

Aragorn got to his feet and I turned to him. He gave me a rueful smile, grim and cheerless.

"Well now, it is a shock to see you here, though I am not sure if I should feel the surprise, considering things" He said in form of greeting.

"I only wish I could of come sooner" I replied looking sadly at the once proud man "and I thought as much the same when seeing you."

"I think introductions are in order, lassy" The dwarf said, approaching us.

"Of course, this is Legolas of the woodland realm and Gimli son of Glóin. Legolas, Gimli this is Aríanna of Rivendell. We can trust her, she's family" Aragon said formally, I nodded as his companions were introduced. I had heard of these two, Legolas the Prince of Mirkwood of course was known to me, though we had never met, and even the name of Gloin was in my memory.

"Family eh? Wasn't aware you had such feisty women in your family and elven at that" Gimli said, gruffly. I heard the compliment in his voice and the glint in his eyes and I was puzzled briefly. A dwarf complimenting an elf? My, my, what do we have here?

Aragorn smiled slightly. His face was just as worn as I had ever seen it and in my mind's eye I saw that expression implanted on the many faces of his ancestors. I saw his grandfather and my father wearing it; I saw his father and uncle wearing it, those two who had been like brothers from me; I shied away from their memory. Almost all the Dúnedain's acquired that look, gained from the rugged life of the rangers. Years of travel and danger had given them this look and yet they were more noble even that the proud Gondorians in all their shiny plates.

"You look more like Arnor each time I see you brother-son"

He chuckled and but looked at me with a little too much understanding in those grey eyes of his. I saw Legolas start at hearing our family relationship.

What followed seemed to rush by me. We sent Boromir down the river to his city, the spears of the Ura'kai he'd slain beneath him. I watched with the others as the elegant boat of Lothlórien fell over the edge of the fall, its path laid out before it. I was deliberating my own path now. Should I follow this trio? The man, elf and dwarf? They were my kin, or at least two of them were. Aragorn my hanarion (_Brother-son_) and the elf, Legolas of the woodland realm, from my mother's birthing place. That to me seemed like where my heart and duty wished to lead me.

I had been on my way to Lothlorien, to seek comfort there after my long journeys. These three were diving back into danger…

"Quick! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore!" Legolas said running to the river where the remaining Lorien boats were harboured. I looked over the crashing water and saw two small figures disappear into the foliage. I recognised them as Perian and wondered at the day we had come to in which the little people were seen in the wild so far from their tidy homes.

I looked to my cousin as the Prince did and saw the same steely jaw and resignation in his grey eyes.

"You mean not to follow them...?"

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands."

I turned again to watch the two Hobbits and my inner eyes drew up a long winding path before them, dark, dangerous and gruelling.

"Then it was all in vain, the fellowship has failed" the dwarf said with a heavy sigh and Aragorn walked to him and placed a hand over his shoulder.

"Not if we hold true to each other." He said bracingly "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death, not while we have strength left."

Aragorn looked to me, questioning, and I sighed.

"I shall come, my heart tell me that is where my path lies" I said and I saw a fleeting smile on his face, reminiscent of his young days when he would grin learning I would be traveling with him and the Dúnedain.

"Then let's hunt some orc" He said determinedly.

The dwarf cheered and with that we rushed out of the small clearing and into the trees.

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><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 6<em>**

I was sitting on the hill that overlooked the path into Rivendell. The grass was lush and green and amongst the blades small purple flowers bloomed. I had picked one and was twirling it between my fingers. Next to me two boys were fighting.

The brothers were tossing and twisting, though I had forgotten the reason. They were just silly boys; if they fell off the hill then it would be their own fault. Pity they were my cousins. Arathorn, the elder of the two, seemed to have the upper hand as usual and I shifted out of the way as they tumbled towards me.

"Stop it you two! Or I'll tell uncle Arador that you were fighting again!" I shouted at them in my high pitched voice.

They both looked up at me as if suddenly realising I too was here. The older brother was sitting on top of Arnor, whose face was being pushed into the earth. One of Arnor's hands was gripping Arathorn's hair and he was wincing. Both boys were grass stained and ruffled. They looked at each other identically and I recognised a glint in their eyes.

"No! Stay away!" I yelled, jumping to my feet as the two boys scrambled up and chased after me.

I didn't get far.

They tackled me to the floor and began tickling me, I shrieked. I tried in vain to bat them away but they were both older than me and it did very little. Arnor, who was nine, was three years older than me and Arathorn was twelve. I kicked out. I couldn't stop laughing and I could hear them doing the same.

"Get off!" I screamed.

Eventually they did and they were grinning happily to each other, their previous argument forgotten. I pouted, crossing my arms.

"Aw, Aríanna, don't be upset. We're very sorry" Arathorn said, smiling sweetly.

Arnor simply laughed and poked me in the ribs playfully, I hit his hand away. I jumped to my feet and pushed my silver hair behind my ears to survey the boys.

"I'll forgive Arathorn, at least _he_ apologised, unlike _you_" I said contemptibly as I jabbed my finger at the grinning nine year old with dark wavy hair. He rolled his eyes at me and threw a small pebble at me, to which I squealed and sent a feeble kick in his direction.

It was then that we heard the sound of feet on the road next to us. I span around, hope glistening in my eyes, and crawled to the edge of the bank. I lay on my stomach and felt the boys do the same. I saw three men coming up the path, dressed in travelling gear and I eagerly studied them. They were all Dúnedain, which was obvious from the rugged clothed they wore and the stern expressions of their faces, that and the fact they were men. I didn't recognise two of them, the one leading a heavily laden brown horse and the younger one next to him, but the one in lead –

"Ada!" (_father_) I shouted jumping to my feet, excitement bubbling in my chest.

"Uncle Arassuil!" my cousins chorused.

My hair bounced as I ran along the edge of the hill, my bare feet running as fast as they could parallel to the path. I knew the boys were following, even though they would have over taken me if they'd been running too. The grassy bank was level next to the slopping stone path, so as the path began rinsing to meet me I jumped the rest of the way down. The stones were warmed by the sun and smooth from the thousands of feet that had walked up and down it.

Ahead of me the man was walking towards me. He was stately and proud; even when dressed as he was and covered in grime and sweat. His face filled with joy as he came towards me and I heard his warm laughter.

"Ada!"

I ran to him, jumping into his waiting hands and wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. He smelt earthy and of dried sweat and he was still in his travelling gear. His black hair, now dirty, was cut to his shoulders and his hands were rough with calluses.

"Arí, it is good to see you again. Where is your Naneth (_mother_)?" he asked me, carrying me up the rest of the path that led to the city.

"She's at home. How long are you staying Ada?" I asked, clinging to my father.

"I don't know yet Arí" He said sighing, rubbing circles on my back.

"Uncle! Where have you been? Aunt Eruianna has been fretting for weeks!" I heard one of the brothers shouting as we approached.

"Did you see father? He's been away too"

"Suil hanarion _(greetings brother-sons)_,I have heard news that your father should be here within a week or so" He replied to the boys standing above us on the bank still.

We wound up the path and entered the gardens of Rivendell. Ada was walking to our rooms as my cousins ran ahead to tell Naneth of his arrival. The other men had gone their own ways but I didn't care where. I curled into my Ada's arms happily.

I so rarely saw my father, what with him always being away helping his brother run the Dúnedain and it was these moments that I hoped would never end. Mother was always sad when father was away; then again, she was sad when he was here too...

We had reached home by now and he set me down outside the door. Naneth was waiting there at the door, still holding a paint brush from her morning activities. In the garden around our rooms I heard the voices of Thorn and Arnor as they wove through the trees and flowers. Naneth's face was glowing with joy and her fair elven face lit up into a sad smile. She was beautiful, her silver hair flowing all around her like star light woven into substance and her graceful figure welcomed us.

"Now, why don't you go play for a while nibin pen _(little one)_? I will see you at dinner" father whispered to me, his hand resting on my shoulder as he crouched down by me side. I was unwilling to leave him but I nodded solemnly and ran off to find my friends.

There were not many children here, for this was the home of the elves. My cousins and I were an exception, them being the direct youth of the Dúnedain line and me the daughter of an elf. It would have been awfully lonely without them here too, I thought. Who else could I complain to about the lessons Lord Elrond gave us? Who else's shoes could I hide when they weren't looking?

"Arí! Over here!" Arnor called, his sharp eyes quickly seeing me as I squeezed through the undergrowth.

The boys were sitting on one of the bridges, their feet dangling down. They were dropping large leaves into the water and watching as they drifted down stream to a small waterfall.

"I win!" Thorn called, ruffling his brother's hair and pushing him to the side a bit.

They were racing whose leaf reached the waterfall, I guessed. Arnor pushed the older boy away and flattened his hair, his face red as he glanced at me.

"Can I play?" I asked sitting down next to them like they were. I swung my legs over the side, then looked at them to see if I was doing it the same way they were.

"Sure, but you have to find a leaf first" Arnor said as he selected a large red leaf from his collection. I got up again and ran for the shrubbery to the side.

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><p><strong>Remember: YOU are my Beta, shall try and at least to get chapter two out fairly soon.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you everyone who subscribed and added this story! From now on the short poems at the beginning of each chapter are apart of a complete lay about Lómëlen.**

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><p><em><strong><span>Chapter Two<span>**_

_Lómëlen our elven child_

_With hair of spun star beams_

_Her eyes were touched with spring's youth_

_And grey with sorrowed dreams_

_Ever in the dusk she walked_

_And in her hand a broken shaft_

_She tread upon the dry leaves_

_With guilt upon her sleeve_

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><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 9<em>**

We three had been the Dúnedain siblings, loved devotedly by the elves as they always did with children. They spoilt us and taught us, they watched over us and smiled when they saw our running figures across the horizon. Eldest was Arathorn, the heir of the line, the quiet but confident one with a constant gleam of wisdom even in youth. Second born was Arnor who was always joyful and kind to everything, he was the one who loved the elves the most, their culture, their language; he swallowed it up in his lessons like a fledgling bird eating from its mother. Then there was me, the Peredhel who was half their own, the fiery one yet at times the most solemn. I had been the one most likely to laugh, to sing and dance though I was perhaps even more stubborn than the two older boys. We three, each separated in years by three, had grown together as siblings under the care of the elves and my mother, for theirs had died during the birth of Arnor.

Inseparable they called us, though they were wrong and they knew it.

Arnor and I bickered constantly and it was our habit to constantly prank one another to the frustration of our parents. Oh, the trouble we would cause in the home of the Elves, I'm sure that must have been the most energetic and entertaining twenty years the immortal beings had had for many decades. There are too many times that Arathorn, in later years, would bring up the stories and then smile fondly as his two siblings would delve into an argument of whom had bested the other the most. I, to this day, swear he was nowhere near my tally but he disagreed apparently, though it is a moot point now I suppose.

Beyond the borders of Imladris, though, we could feel the darkness, even in our youthful years of pranks. This had been most obvious to my two mortal cousins for I know now that I had grown up more ignorant of the darkness and toil than them, who were destined indisputably for the life of the wild.

I remember, when I was nine watching Arathorn meeting with his father in the full bloom of spring. Thorn's fifteenth birthday had just been and something in the elves had shifted slightly. They had grown more solemn and their lessons for the boys were forced and layered over each other as if they believed they ran out of time. Now Arnor and I sat in one of the gardens watching the interactions between father and son.

"What do you suppose they are speaking of?" Arnor asked sullenly, peering around the tree.

He was grumpy because uncle Arador had been away so long and had barely greeted him.

"How am _I _supposed to know Arnor?" I rebuked and he scowled.

"Well, maybe because you have elven ears?" he said sarcastically and I glowered right back.

"Oh silence Arnor, you know quite well I can't hear so you might as well just be quiet" I said crossing my arms.

He rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned back to his spying.

I peered over his shoulder, crawling closer to him so I could see over him. Arathorn and his father were standing by the stables and both faces were grave but Thorn held his shoulders in a way I had never seen on him. He looked sort of proud and ready and his jaw was set in grim determination as his father spoke quietly. I watched curiously as he nodded slowly and Arador placed a hand on his son's shoulder and led him into the doors of the stables.

Arnor and I did not move from our crouched position behind the tree but slowly Arnor slumped.

"Thorn is fifteen now" He said glumly and I nodded.

"You don't suppose..." I started, biting my lips "... You don't suppose it had something to do with his coming of age do you?"

It was a loaded question, even I knew that and I knew little of the work of the Dúnedain beyond the borders of the last homely house. Arnor was pensive, his fingers playing with a loose leaf that lay on the floor.

"Probably" He grunted while I frowned.

"But that's five years away... that's ages" I said, with all the naivety of youth.

"Yeah..." Arnor mumbled while I continued to frown.

They all seemed so moody about it. Arathorn always became gloomy when anyone mentioned his coming of age and even Arnor hated the subject. I didn't understand, wouldn't it be fantastic to leave Rivendell and see the world, see different types of people, have the freedom to go anywhere, to fight and help others? That, to me, seemed so much better than the quiet existence of the elves which, though peaceful to the soul, did nothing for anyone else.

"Would you stop glaring at me Arí!" Arnor suddenly spat and I blinked.

"I'm not!" I bit back, falling back into a pout that would have mother chiding me as if I'd skipped painting lessons.

"Well you're giving me a headache pulling that face"

"Well, _your_ face gives me a headache _all_ the time"

"Oh stop being such a baby!"

I growled and sprang from where I sat to collide with Arnor.

It was a stupid move; Arnor was twelve and a lot stronger than me even with my elven advantage.

Five minutes later, when Arathorn came back, we were sitting back to back glaring at nothing and supporting many bruises and scratches. Arathorn took one look at us and shook his head in amusement before grabbing both our collars and dragging us (kicking, scratching and generally whining) to the healers house.

"What am I ever going to do with you two?" he would say but we'd both seen the small smile blooming on his lips and been glad of it.

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><p><strong><em>TA 3018 - Present<em>**

The pace we set was fast and restless and soon hills began to roll under our feet, growing and falling before us. It was a ruthless journey with infrequent stops that were just enough time to gulp so water and munch on some Lambas bread. My stock pile of food was depleted from my long travels but I still had just enough to keep me going. Legolas and I were fine with the fast pace, we had the endurance of our people and rest came easily to us as we ran. Aragorn too was okay, though I could see the desperate pace was beginning to get to him, even with his long years of practice. It was Gimli who was lagging the most, though he was much too stubborn in admitting it.

During one of the brief stops to remove and chew some lambas I approached my cousin.

"Estel" I started, slipping unconsciously into his childhood name "tell me, how come Gandalf is not with the company? I would have assumed he would join the road of the ring, after all his efforts"

My three companions fell silent, none of them meeting my eyes and I looked between them in confusion.

"What?" I asked looking from the dwarf, staring at the hard trodden earth, Prince Legolas, looking over the hills of Rohan, and Aragorn.

"Arí..." Aragorn began, looking up into my eyes.

I froze, seeing something in his eyes I had seen many times before. I held my breath and the blood within my veins seeming to pound with dew like coldness.

"We went to Moria" a tremor ran up my spine "and there... within the dark we came across a Balrog..." A sharp needle, a familiar friend, stabbed my heart "Arí, Gandalf fell"

The wind whistled in the high hills of the land of the horse lords. Blue skies above shifted and clouds, so innocent and idyllic, strayed across the vast expanse. By all accounts it was a beautiful day, even the sun, high and noble, was peering down to us on this day of hardship and... sorrow.

I said nothing but I felt in my heart twisting within the depths of my immortal chest.

Gandalf...

I turned away from the wanders of the fellowship, with all their sympathy and pain shining in their eyes and Estel's blatant knowing.

"Go. There is little time to loose, I shall catch up with you" I heard my own voice to say, surprisingly calm, and I heard none protest as Aragorn drew his bag back onto his back.

Their jogging footsteps faded into the back of my thoughts and I shut my eyes, letting a solitary tear burst from the confines of my eye. It burned down my face and when it reached the precipice at the edge of my jaw I let in fall to the ground.

Gandalf... how could he have fallen? That wise istar, a maia spirit who came to us from Valinor. My dear friend, who I had always seen as something stable, something as innate to the life of middle earth now as the mountains.

Too much... it was too much.

_"_Namárië _Nîn _muin mellon (_farewell my dear friend_)" my voice felt heavy, cracking, in my chest and the wind seemed to pick it up tenderly from my mouth and speed it away into the world.

It was not goodbye, not really, I would see the istar again when my soul was carried to Valinor at the death of my body. After all, I was immortal now; it was my mortal family whom I would have, and had already begun, to farewell.

"Man lû vin achenitham Gandalf? (_When shall we meet again Gandalf?)_" I whispered contemplatively and a small smile grew on my lips as fond memories of the wise wizard came to my mind.

I turned and, with one last sigh, I ran forward from where I had left my tear to join my fellows. Perhaps stronger grief would come later but for now there were two Hobbits to be found.

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><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 7 - Eruianna<em>**

I wrapped my arms around the waist of my husband and rested my head on his shoulder. It was so good to have him home. It was foolish; his life was like that of a Lossen butterfly which opened its white wings for but a day before failing. For all my years of life, the centuries that had gone by beneath my eyes only a trickle had passed since I'd found love and already our doom day approached. And he already spent most of our scarce time away.

"I have missed you" I whispered to him. There was little point saying out loud, for it was as obvious as the approaching spring, but I felt the words come anyway.

He kissed the top of my head gently.

"As did I"

I looked up at his dear face, worn by his travels, as felt my heart swell in my chest. So strong, so kind, he soothed me and yet ice seemed to touch my breast. New signs of age were encrusted on his face. They were subtle, and I thanked the Valar that he at least had thrice the life span of other mortals. In the corners of his eyes and mouth I saw the lines of new creeping creases and in his hair I could see several concealed grey hairs. So young and yet so old, that was the way of the mortals.

I sighed and in his grey eyes I saw sad understanding.

"Come, you need to wash" I pulled him down the corridor.

"How is Aríanna?" He asked as we entered the bathing room.

I smiled joyfully. My Aríanna, my beautiful Gaelen. (_Glimmering star_)

"She grows so fast and she is like a balm to my heart. Though I believe those two boys are teaching her silly tricks" I chuckled indulgently.

"I'm glad they are here to keep her company, she needs people her age to play with. I remember what it was like growing up in Rivendell with no other children" He said also smiling.

"I agree. Lord Elrond has been watching over her, you know? I suppose it is natural, for she will have to make her own choice one day." I sighed.

My baby girl, what would she choose? I knew her heart wished to live with the mortal boys she called brothers, the men of the Dúnedain she called her own. She hardly thought of the path of immortality, my poor baby girl. She could go to Valinor, she could go see the beauty of the undying lands but wouldn't if she chose a mortal life. My soul was destined for the halls of Mandos, away from my love and away, perhaps, from my daughter who would be cut off from the physical like the death of their bodies.

"Erui? Love?" I looked up and saw the knowing gaze of my husband I smiled ruefully.

"I promised to live in the present, I promised you that on our wedding day" I said, stepping back into his arms "I plan to keep it"


	3. Chapter 3

**How to pronounce the names:**

****Lómëlen: _Loh-may-len_****

****Aríanna: _Ah-ree-ah-nah_****

****Eruianna: _Air-roo-ah-nah_****

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><p><strong>If anyone want's to rectify my dismal poetry (p.s. spoilers are a given as you have to know background info) then message me with an edit of the poems in chapter two and three and I'll see if I want you to do the rest as well. Otherwise bare with me and know that this type of poetry is not my forte :L<strong>

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><p><strong><span>Chapter Three<span>**

_A cousin came, both stern and brave_

_And noble helmed was he_

_Upon the hills he called to her_

_But yet she could not see_

_"Lady fair, Lady fair, heryn bien_

_And faithful friend,_

_Look to me, look to me"_

_But still her heart she could not see_

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><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 56<em>**

I woke suddenly and my eyes struggled to focus in the dark of my room. There was a light tapping at my door and I frowned. It had to be nearly three in the morning, who would be calling now? I pushed the sheets off myself and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold to touch, though my elven blood came into play to push away the uncomfortable feeling. I reached out with semi blind hands and grasped my night robes lined with soft fur.

I glanced out of the balcony windows which were only partly veiled by curtains and I saw the moon, Isil as the elves named it, gleaming over the valley. It was beautiful, yes, but when I looked at it I was reminded sharply that it was in the province of the elves.

The feather light but persistent knock came again as I wrapped the piece of clothing around myself. Padding to the door, not bothering with candles, I twisted the knob and pulled the door open.

I blinked, seeing nobody but the empty stone corridor.

"Aunty Arí?" said a diminutive voice and I looked down to see a pair of wide eyes staring up at me.

The face was round and topped with a full head of dark brown curls. I sighed and knelt down next to the figure.

"Estel, what are you doing up?" I whispered, pulling the boy into my arms so that he was perched on my thigh and wrapped in my robe. He wrapped a tiny hand over the robe and pressed his head into my chest.

"Couldn't sleep and Naneth was in bed" he said with a sniff and I lifted him up onto my hip as I stood up.

"You want to sleep with me?" I said kindly and the little boy nodded with another sniff.

My eyes, now better adjusted, could see that his cheeks were streaked with pink. My little nephew had been crying, bless him, I kissed the rosy cheek. I shut the door and carried him to my bed, humming gently as I went. I would ask in the morning what had plagued his sleep but for now the child needed rest.

I placed him on my bed and limbed in next to him, pulling up the covers around us. He drew in closer to me, sniffing, and I made sure he was properly covered. I felt his cold face pressing into my neck and I stroked his dark hair. I let my soft hums continue and slowly I felt him relax in my arms.

I sighed, letting my quiet tune fade away as I looked at my brother's son. How I wished that Arathorn was here now…

"Little Aragorn, little Estel" I whispered as I let my own sleep come to me, my eyes shutting with slumber like the mortal I still was.

In the morning another knock on my door woke me up and I looked up quickly to see Arnor peering at me from the now ajar door. I cocked my eyebrows at him; he never did understand the rules of etiquette that reminded him I was a lady who, for all he knew, could have been in the process of dressing. His eyes fell on the little boy still sleeping spooned against my side and an amused grin lit up his face.

"Good morning" I said pleasantly as he came in and shut the door behind him.

I glanced at Estel and saw a suppressed smile on his little lips that showed he was awake.

"Good morning, and what do we have here?" he asked, creeping up to the side of his nephew, I saw mischief alighting in his eyes and decided to play along.

"I don't know, it crept into my room last night. I was thinking we could give him to Edlothia for the cooking pot" I said with a grin, sitting up in my bed further.

He cocked his eyebrows and crawled to sit on the end of the bed.

"I'm sure she could get something out of him, maybe a nice stew?"

Estel let out a muffled giggle and we shared a smirk as Arnor's hands crept for the edge of the covers and I rose to my knees.

Twenty minuets later loud giggling and shrieks could be heard from my rooms as a confused Gilraen poked her head into my room looking for her son. She laughed as she saw the sight of Estel hanging from Arnor's hands by his ankles while I tickled him mercilessly.

"Naneth! Naneth! Help, they're going to eat me!" Estel shrieked between giggles.

Arnor grinned down at the upside-down boy.

"Well? What else would we do with a little boy as cute as you?"

* * *

><p><strong>Aríanna - Present<strong>

"You said that Aragorn is your bother-son?" Prince Legolas said coming to stand by me as the others fell into sleep. We had finally stopped for a short night's rest after our long run of three days, under sun and stars. It would be brief, with an early rise, but we were comforted slightly knowing our quarry did the same.

I smiled at him as he stared off over the hills with a spark in his eyes as the sun set.

He was a Prince and I felt the usual self-conscious nervousness creep into my thoughts with such encounters with those of high birth. I was nothing to them, not a Princess or a daughter of a well known Elf, just Aríanna half-Elven who everyone knows wishes to carry the gift of man. I was the elleth who fled her people to join the rangers in the wilderness, a task unbefitting of even a mortal woman.

"Indeed Prince Greenleaf, I did, though in truth I am not actually his aunt, just his first cousin once removed" I said politely.

He turned to me and I could see confusion clear in his eyes. I elaborated.

"I am the daughter of Eruianna and the mortal man Arassuil"

He nodded and interest sparked in his cerulean eyes.

"Is that Eruianna of Mirkwood?" he asked curiously "I knew her, not well, but I knew her"

"Yes, she was of Mirkwood before I was born. She has sailed now" I said and I saw her beautiful smiling face as she ran to me and swung me up into the air. Even then, before father's death, she'd had grief lines etched firmly into her face and there had been a certain coldness to her skin.

"She sailed? After marrying a mortal man?" He said I my eyes snapped to him in annoyance. Why did people always believe that to love a mortal was to die? Was it such a shock that some did not fade? It was not from lack of love if that was what he was suggesting.

"Yes. She left after I made my choice" I said sharply and he blinked in surprise at my harsh tone.

I cursed myself remembering who I was and who he was. It was not so foolish to think what he did, that is what Elves had been taught of the relationships between mortal and Elven, their past was littered with examples.

"Forgive me Prince Legolas" I said shortly.

I left him to stand there and walked silently down one of the hills of this country. There were so many hills... it was a wonder to me how Gimli and Aragorn could run for so long in these conditions. I remembered the weaknesses of a mortal body, even a half mortal had had a bad endurance. Of course I was a woman and in the laws of nature that meant I was naturally slightly weaker in muscle. No point denying it, it had taken work to be how I was now.

I walked a little way and found myself humming. It was a sad tune (I could hardly remember the happy songs now) about a valiant Elven lord who died side by side his mortal friend. It was about loyalty and it struck my heart though I did not bother to draw out the words from my memory.

I could feel the eyes of Legolas on my back but I paid them no heed.

I turned my face into the wind and let the darkness of approaching night surround me. I travelled so often alone that the presence of others was disconcerting at first. It was here in the loneliness of the night that the pain would come back but it also brought peace to the still sharp edges of my soul. It felt to me as if the wind and quiet were blunting the torn shards slowly, oh so slowly, but unquestionably.

I looked up at the moon, isil, and remembered my once bitter thoughts regarding that flower which shone in the memory of the elves.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 14<em>**

"You two better not kill your selves while I'm away, I know how you two can get" Thorn said as he strapped on a leather belt over his shirt and leggings.

I rolled my eyes from where I sat in his window seat, my feet up and the sun glowing on my back. It was a fine day, the sun hot in the clear blue expanse but a light breeze flowing to keep away overheating. A good day to leave home I guess.

"We're not that bad Thorn, you over exaggerate"

"Yeah, it's not like we've ever permanently disfigured each other" Arnor protested and I threw the embroidery loop I was meant to be doing for mother at him, which he deftly avoided.

He picked up the hoop from the floor and turned it over in his hands. I cringed as I saw the useless moon flower design I'd been trying to do.

"Honestly Arí, your needle work is awful" he said with a snort and I stuck my tongue out at him

"You try sitting in the same seat for two hours with a needle and thread. I'd like to see you do better" I said grumpily.

His eyes sparkled and he rose from his seat.

"Aww, Aríanna the _Lady_" he crowed, pretending to lift up and skirt and flounce around the room.

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm better at you in archery" I argued, crossing my arms defiantly and scowling harder.

"Only because you're an Elleth" he retorted and I glared, he knew how I hated being called that, I wasn't even a proper elf, not that I wanted to be. I didn't want to live forever and watch as these two flamboyant brothers grow old and die.

"Children!" Arathorn shouted and we turned away from our scowling contest with a blink each.

He was biting his lip and looking between us, the leather jerkin forgotten, and I quickly felt bad.

"Sorry Thorn" I said sheepishly but he waved his hand in objection.

"No, you've done nothing. You two bicker constantly and…" He rubbed the back of his head "and I think I'm going to miss that"

Arnor walked to his older brother, his face sincere, as he looked at the floor. He placed a hand on Arathorn's shoulder and pulled him into a hug. The elder clung to the younger boy by three years and buried his face in his neck

"We're still going to be here hanar (_brother_), they won't make you stay away for too long this time" He said reassuringly "and anyway, in three years I'll be joining you"

I looked away, trying not to think of that. In three years I'll be all on my own… three years. Of course, in six years, I'll be of age too and maybe I'll be allowed to go out with the brothers as well but I had low hopes for that, though I would fight for it. Mother would go crazy with worry and cling to me with desperate hands. Father would frown and tell me sadly to think of my mother, he'd use guilt to keep me here. Lord Elrond would say I was too young like every other immortal to which I was just a gwinig (_baby_).

"You'll look after each other won't you?" Arathorn said from inside his brothers arms.

"Of course we will" I piped up and he looked over Arnor's shoulder at me "You think I would let this idiot do anything stupid?"

Thorn chuckled.

"You'll stop him from training too hard, won't you?" he asked me, as they pulled away, he placed an elderly brother hand on the other's shoulder.

I rolled my eyes while Arnor pouted.

"Yes, otherwise he may get better than me and we can't have that" I said in mock fear.

"I'm already better than you nibin pen (_little one_)" Arnor said in amusement.

I scrunched up my nose at the nickname my father liked to use.

"Just keep telling yourself that, brother" I said bravely.

There was a knock on the door and we all turned to see my mother standing their watching us with a fond smile. A fond, sad smile.

"Look at you Arathorn" she said, stepping into the room and walking to Thorn, holding him out before her. Her eyes sparkled.

"So grown up already, my, it was only a few seasons past that you were a little boy with a meren (_joyous_) smile ready to make your mischief" she said and Thorn smiled sadly.

There was stillness as she looked over him. Her lips quivered and I moved forward to hold one of the hands she had let fall. It was cool in mine, not freezing or even very noticeable but it was different.

"You are a man now, a true Dúnedain" she said with a chuckle.

"Thank you aunt Eruianna" Arathorn said and he looked at me briefly, just a flick of his eyes.

"Naneth…?" I started unsurely, my hand still holding hers.

She turned to me now and she smiled again and I saw in her eyes that she was trying to banish the sadness. She raised a finger to my lips.

"I am fine Aríanna" she whispered to me before drawing away "I'll leave you to get ready"

She kissed Arathorn's brow then left the room, we watched her go.

"Her hand was chilled" I whispered and a hand fell on my shoulder.

I looked up to see Arnor looking at me in concern.

"She'll be fine Arí"


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: I will and have used dialogue from both the book and the films and guess what? I don't own that either. Yawn.**

**Thank you: Reviewers (Gwilwillith, Kaida Graehwyng, Starlight5, Dalonega Noquisi) and favouriters and alerters!**

**A BIG note for my star Beta, ArwenJaneLilyLyra, who is the best I could have asked for! Thankyou!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

_And such with sadness on his brow_

_Did walk away the son of man_

_Far from home and empty dreams_

_His path to where he could not see_

_For hopeless now his thoughts became_

_For Lady Fair, of Dusken hair_

_Lady fair of tears and rain_

_And now for him one trail remained_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 68 - Aragorn<em>**

As a child I grew up in Rivendell with my mother. There were no other children there, and I spent many of my days alone. Though the elves around me both loved and cherished me, and Elrond treated me as a son, it did not change the fact that they were all old and serene and therefore not ideal for an energetic child. It was my Aunt Aríanna with whom I spent most of my time with, when she wasn't away with the Dúnedain, at least. She wasn't actually my aunt, though I know her and my father considered one another siblings, but that was what I called her early on. She wasn't actually an elf, either, she was half elven; her father being my great uncle Arassuil, who I saw on occasion before his death, him and Uncle Arnor both.

But it was Aríanna that I most enjoyed spending time with. She would play all sorts of games with me that none of the others, too busy or serious, would. We would run all throughout Rivendell playing hide and seek, and tag, the elves not caring if we ran amok in the many halls and gardens. She would pick me up and swing me through the air so that I felt like I was flying. It was she who comforted me at night when mother was away, or if I was plagued with nightmares of the day my father died, a memory hidden deep down, revealed only by night. She would sing to me in Elven, lulling me to sleep. When I was finally old enough, it was she who taught me how to use a bow, her, Elladan and Elrohir. She would likewise teach me sword work for when I joined the Dúnedain whenever there were no rangers around, because after all, she too was of that bloodline.

I remember when I was sixteen she came back from a celebration outside of Rivendell with the Dúnedain early, furthermore with her eyes in a desperate panic. She burst into my lesson with Elrond on the history of middle earth with a wild look, her hair coming loose around her face.

"My Lord Elrond, I am sorry for the interruption. Has Arnor come this way?" I looked in confusion between the two of them and saw Ada frown.

"He did, the day before yesterday. He did not stay long, though, nor did he say where he was going."

I couldn't remember Uncle Arnor coming to visit; usually said hello to me before leaving. I frowned as Aríanna collapsed into a nearby chair, cradling her face in her hands.

"I am scared he is going to do something stupid... he did not let me finish, if only..." she trailed off.

"Estel, could you go fetch Aríanna something to drink?" Elrond asked me suddenly and I nodded, laying a hand on my aunt as I left.

When I got back Ada looked grim, and Arí was staring determinedly out of the window. She smiled at me as I came in and gladly drank the sweet wine I brought.

"Come Estel, see me off? I would like to hear how you have been," she told me, placing a hand on my arm.

"Travel safe Aríanna. My heart tells me your fate is at a crossroad," Ada said soberly, and she nodded solemnly.

As we walked to the stables where she had left her pack she questioned me on my studies, on my mother and her mother, who was fading from the death of her husband seven years before. When we got there she began to pack new supplies and we settled into silence. I glanced over to where her horse, Lynra, was resting in the pasture, but she made no move to go to the dappled grey mare. I watched her face carefully and my eyes took in the hurried movements of her hands. She looked a mess.

"Where are you going? What has happened to Arnor?" I asked, trying to keep the worry from my voice.

She sighed and turned to me, placing her hands on both of my shoulders. She leant her forehead against mine and closed her eyes.

"I do not know, Estel... I really do not know. I will be back, I promise..." she smiled sadly at me and pressed a kiss to my brow "Sometimes I can hardly believe how quickly you have grown; look at you now, a young and fine man. Your father would be proud of you... have I told you what he said to me when you were born?" I shook my head. "No? That is odd. He said 'look at his eyes, Arí, can you see it? My boy is meant for incredible things, I can feel it, he will be brilliant' and you will..."

Then she left.

When she came back several months later, bearing the news of Arnor's death and the glow of immortality, she was broken. Her mother, Aunt Eruianna, took one look at her and nodded. She too had lost the one she loved and she saw the pain echoed in her daughters eyes. It was time for Eruianna to leave, as we all knew. It was obvious to all that she would have to either fade or sail after her husband's death and she had told me that the only reason she waited was until her daughter had chosen her path.

I myself had spent many hours with Arí, and she told me the whole sad story.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna - Present<em>**

When I awoke it was to the glimmer of a red dawn on the horizon, the sky still dark and holding the speckles of lingering stars. I rose from where I lay and saw the silhouette of Prince Greenleaf standing nearby, looking out over the hills. He turned at the sound of my movement, his face hidden in shadow, and stared hard at me as I walked to his side.

"Did you not rest, Prince Legolas?" I asked quietly, looking over to the distantly growing ruby gleam, for he had not moved from the position he had been in when I first lay to rest.

I felt his sharp eyes on me and I turned to meet them, his bright blue meeting my crisp grey. It had been a long time since I had met one of my own kind and the beauty of an immortal face soothed me. I thought of Arnor then, of how his face also used to sooth me, but his had been the epitome of mortality. Him with his young eyes, and yet the ever present grim lines of toil and growing age. He who knew me so well. We would sit together, completely at ease, and he always knew how to make me laugh. Travelling silently but with years of knowing each other's every move. Back in my youth.

"Call me Legolas," he said softly, breaking our gaze.

"Legolas..." I said slowly, disliking the informalities and still suffering the backlash from thoughts of Arnor.

We both watched the sun peak over the brim of the world before he broke the silence.

"I was too impatient to lie, so I had my rest as I stood..." he said calmly, his voice soft so as not to wake the others, then he twisted away from the view and looked at our companions. "We should rouse Gimli and Aragorn."

I watched him walk away smoothly, the rising light hitting his back and setting his blond hair aflame. I felt uneasiness take root in my heart and crossed my arms over my breasts.

"It is a red dawn," I heard Legolas say as the others stirred. "Strange things await us; good or evil, I do not know; but we are called."

The others were quickly on their feet and we were off again, our pace swifter from our rested limbs. I felt the desperation that fuelled them moving into my own heart with every foot upon the earth. The anxiety for their friends increased by the mile and if it were not for the token we had found yesterday, the Lothlórien leaf, I am sure their hearts would not have held.

It was midday when Aragorn paused with a call to us to press his ear to the stone and Legolas, in the brief pause, moved to look over the hills. I squinted my eyes through the bright sun and I saw ahead of me many bodies moving towards us at a fast pace.

Aragorn jumped to his feet beside me.

"Riders!" He called. "Many riders on swift steeds are coming towards us!"

"Yes, there are one hundred and five," Legolas said lightly from his perch. "Their hair is yellow and their spears bright. Their leader is very tall."

Estel smiled at the elf.

"Keen are the eyes of elves," he said in kindness but I, unable to help myself, snorted lightly.

"Do not think so, cousin; they are but five leagues away. The Prince embellishes," I said with a grin and Legolas turned slightly to send me a small, sheepish smile.

"We will wait, we may get news from them concerning our quarry," Aragorn said decisively and I nodded in agreement.

We settled to wait, moving from the very crest of the hill to further down where we were not such easy prey against the horizon. I kept my eyes fixed on the moving figures and saw that Legolas had been correct in his count of a hundred and five, though three of the horses were rider-less. I looked to my right where Aragorn watched them with keen eyes and a ready poise, and then to my left where my eyes locked instantly with those of Prince Legolas - again. I let my eyes pass uneasily and landed instead on the figure of Gimli, who face was grim as he too stared at, what must have been to his gaze, just a dark shadow on the horizon. He leant heavily on his axe and when his eyes met mine he nodded towards the approaching men.

"I wonder if it will be more spears than news that we shall gain from these men," he wondered aloud, but he did not disagree with the decision to wait, just eyed the dark spot on the horizon warily.

"I have been among them," Aragorn replied from his vigil. "They are proud and wilful, but true-hearted and certainly not cruel. It is not they whom I fear."

We watched the host of man and horse charge towards us over the open plains of Rohan, drawing ever closer. My eyes caught the glints of their helmets and spear tips, each edge bright sparks under the sun and proud against the green and grey land. The roar of the hoofs upon the earth rolled out over the land and I felt the vibrations in my knees. Soon they were nearly upon us and I watched in shock as they started to ride_ past_ us, the great beating of the hoofs rushing away and the wings of the horse tails beneath their helms flying behind them and travelling past us as yellow streaks in the wind.

Aragorn sprung from his crouch and called mightily to the group.

"Riders of Rohan! What news from the mark?"

At the sound of his shout the body of horses swerved with great skill at a single sign from their leader. They charged towards us and, as if they were a flood and we were the high land, swept around us from every direction, filling the gapes with the sheer brute size of their steeds. As one their spears bent forward to make an impenetrable wall around us, thick as bramble. We didn't move, didn't so much as blink, though Gimli looking irritable and Legolas tense for action. We kept our cloaks around us and I resisted the urge to reach for Nórui at my side: these were not enemies, but they certainly did not know that.

The leader, taller than his fellows as the Prince had already remarked, came forward through the mass.

"Who are you; what are you doing in this land?" he asked roughly in common speech.

"I am named Strider." I resisted the urge to arch my brow at the new name, for it seemed my cousin gathered names to him faster than man gathers summers. "I came out of the North. I am hunting orcs."

This man dismounted smoothly before us, drawing a sword and examining closely, his eyes taking in the elven cloak, ranger garb and perhaps even the dignified gleam that showed around the edges of his worn facade.

"At first I thought_ you_ to be an orc. Strider. That is no name for a man that you give; strange, too, do your raiment's seem, for you seemed to spring from the grass - so hidden from eyes you were." His eyes sharpened "Are you elvish folk?"

"No, but half of our number is, Legolas of distant Mirkwood and Aríanna from Rivendell." I, at my introduction, removed my hood smoothly and felt eyes upon Legolas and I, who had copied my movement "But we passed through Lothlórien and we carry both gifts and the favour of the Lady there."

There were mutters all around and I saw the eyes of the men harden to distrust, the leader included, though marvel also twinkled there. Gimli stirred, hands gripping upon his axe threateningly. I had heard during my travels that this most unusual of dwarves held Galadriel in high reverence.

"Then there truly is a Lady of the Golden Wood, as the legends say. A net-weaver and sorceress they call her." His cold eyes turned to me and I stiffened until finally they moved to my fellows. "How am I to know that you are not, too, if you have her favour as you so claim. Why do you not speak, silent ones?"

"Give me your name, horse master, and I shall give you mine." I heard Gimli's growl behind me and I found myself becoming fond of this stout dwarf.

"I am Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark," he replied stiffly.

"Then, Éomer son of Éomund, I Gimli, Glóin's son, warn you against your foolish words concerning that which is fairer than you may comprehend, and only little wit now may excuse you." His words caused an angry wave to spread amongst the men and I partly closed my eyes at the tactless, if honest, words.

"I would cut off your head, _dwarf,_ if it stood but a little higher from the ground," Éomer sneered and a hand twitched at his bare sword.

In a flash Legolas had drawn and cocked a bow towards the horseman and a glint of anger shone in the depths of his clear blue eyes.

"You would die before you're stroke fell!" he hissed and the horses around us moved forward, spears bristling.

Aragorn jumped forwards to grip the elf's shoulder, raising a hand in peace towards the angered horsemen.

"We are friends of Rohan," I said boldly and calmly, meeting the eye of the Third Marshal, unhesitant of the weapons around me. "We mean neither you nor your people harm. You have unintentionally insulted my friend and perhaps, when there is time and place for explanation, you shall learn why. For now, we beg pardon."

"Will you not hear us before you strike?" Aragorn asked, and there was a brief, tense silence as those around us waited on their leader's response.

"I shall," he replied. "But wanderers in Rohan are not taken lightly in these days of doubt. Firstly tell me your rightful name."

"First tell us whom you serve," I said stubbornly, though I did not believe the rumours that said they had dealings with the dark. "Are you friend or foe of the Dark Lord Sauron?"

He glanced towards me stonily, insult written plainly on his face and he eyed me up and down with doubt. When his eyes met mine I held them firm, challenging him to remark upon my gender.

"I serve only the Lord of the Mark, Théoden King Son of Thengel. We do not serve the dark power in those far places," he said stoutly, then turned back to Aragorn "Whom do_ you _serve, you say you hunt orcs…but at whose order? Who _are_ you?"

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnedain, heir of Isildur." His eyes burned brightly and a new mood seemed to have overtaken him. He stood tall, seeming to shadow the tall Rohirim and in his face was the majesty of kings. Éomer stepped back in shock as Legolas and Gimli looked at him in amazement. I smiled and pride for the man before me took a hold of me; he was no longer that quiet and modest child whom we named Estel. "I serve no man, but the servants of Sauron I hunt to wherever they go. We hunt a host of Uruk-hai who have taken two of our friends hostage."

"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night," Éomer said, glancing between us.

"There were two Hobbits. Did you see two Hobbits?" Gimli asked nervously.

"They are small – only children to your eyes," Aragorn added but Éomer shook his head.

"We left none alive; we burnt the corpses at the base of the forest." He pointed behind him and I saw a line of smoke I had not noticed snaking across the sky.

"Dead?" Gimli moaned and I bowed my head.

"I am sorry," Éomer said, and then a new light seemed to take root in his eyes and he turned behind him and whistled loudly, calling for the three spare horses. "May these horses lead you to better fortune than their last masters," he said as they came forward. "We do not have enough for one each, though."

"You need not worry. I would sooner walk than sit on the back of any beast so great, free or begrudged," Gimli said.

"But you must," Aragorn said. "Or you shall hinder us."

"Come, you shall sit behind me, friend Gimli," Legolas said, laying a hand on the shorter friend's shoulder.

A handsome, large grey horse was brought to Aragorn; he mounted it quickly and easily with fond words in quiet elvish to the animal.

"Hasufel is his name, may he bear you well, though his last master, Gárulf, has now passed," Éomer said to him.

Legolas was given a smaller horse named Arod, a fiery animal with brown hair and a white nose. He asked for them to remove the saddle and reins and deftly jumped up onto his back. He called to the dwarf, who looked apprehensive towards the snorting animal, but was soon hoisted up.

For me a light footed mare with a creamy coat, slighter than the others and quiet when she came to me, was brought.

"Dwimor is her name," Éomer said to me as I stroked the horse's nose lightly, while the men removed the saddle for me also. "Meaning 'delusion', for often her smaller frame and gentle nature can be misleading; for despite this she is a speedy and brave beast just as any of the stallions, worthy of a fine elven lady, I think."

I looked to him with a smile and thanked him.

"She is a fine animal," I said contentedly. "Ni veren an le ngovaned an d'vain, hmm?*" I whispered and she snorted, pushing her face into my chest.

As was the way with elves, Legolas and I needed no reins but instead spoke our wishes to the horses, which were fine creatures that understood clearly our desires. The men watched us with wide eyes, but as ever, I ignores their eyes, used to the curious attention.

"Come to Meduseld when you have come to the end of your quest," Éomer said as he prepared to leave, he seemed softer now that he believed we were not enemies. "Then perhaps our swords may sing together in battle."

"I shall come," Aragorn replied.

"And I also," Gimli said from his uneasy perch. "For the matter of the Lady Galadriel lies between us still, and I have yet to teach you gentle speech."

"We shall see," the horseman said, only slightly amused. "For stranger things have come to be now in these minutes, legends springing from the very green earth we walk upon, so that the idea of learning to praise a fair lady under the gently strokes of a Dwarf's axe does not seem to be such a wonder. Farewell!"

* * *

><p><strong>*Ni veren an le ngovaned an d'vain, hmm? [<em>It is joyous to meet you for you are beautiful, hmm?]<em>**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: ****A big thank you to my star Beta: **ArwenJaneLilyLyra. **You are fantastic!**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Five<span>**

_Silence touched fair Lómëlen_

_Fear settled on her thoughts_

_For quiet were the songs to she_

_Who loved to laugh and dance and sing_

_With flowers on her brow_

_She grasped the Nórui blade in hand_

_And with her silent maiden feet_

_Did leave the merry land_

* * *

><p><strong>Aríanna - Present<strong>

We approached the burning pile, and my face became grim as the stench of burning flesh reached my senses. I felt as my skin was being smothered by the heavy black smoke, and with it the reek of death, vile and poisoned, clinging to the back of my throat like the plague. Dwimor, ever patient, shifted beneath me and I patted her neck, whispering soothingly.

We dismounted, and Gimli approached the smouldering pile, his dwarven skin resilient against the sweltering heat. He started to shift through the debris with the end of his axe, sieving through the carcases. Not long after I heard him gasp and, in frigid shock, slowly turned towards us, face grim and distraught. He held out some burnt leather, looking up at us with swimming eyes. On the charred surface I saw many intricate designs, too graceful and finely made to be the work of orcs.

"It's one of their wee belts," the dwarf choked out, and I heard Legolas mutter a prayer for the fallen in a soft elven note.

Aragorn let out a harsh, uncontrollable howl and kicked a nearby helmet, sending it flying. He buckled, falling to his knees in his crippling anger; face bowed down and fists clenched white, raised together before his face as if they could shield him from the truth.

We stood for a moment in silence, each absorbed in our own morose thoughts, ever surrounded in the wind and the stench. I looked up to the forest we stood by, seeing the ancient trees and the darkness within their cage; nothing in there moved but it seemed to me that the forest pulsated. A strange thing... as if it were so still, so_ completely_ static, that it seemed to warp under my gaze. It drew me, beckoning me into its depths.

"A hobbit lay here." The voice snapped me out of my gaze and I wrenched my eyes away to rest instead on my cousin.

"And the other." His hands were stretched out of the ground before him, tracing shapes imprinted into the earth; they brushed away the loose dust and I distinguished slight concaves there.

Aragorn paused and I near felt his mind buzzing as his quick eyes darted around the grass. Then he climbed to his feet, remaining in a half crouch with his fingers still brushing the earth, and started circling around, eyes fixed on the ground.

"Their hands were bound," he called to us, and a lump appeared in my throat to think of one of the happy folk tied.

Suddenly he knelt and drew a piece of ragged rope from where it had been beaten into the ground. He stared at it and glanced back to where the others and I stood, before turning again.

"Their bond were cut," he muttered, and I heard underlying tension in his voice, wishful hope forced to await new information, his hands and eyes moving to trace more tracks. "They ran over here..."

He picked up his pace, almost running in renewed passion, and we hurried to follow at his heels.

"The tracks lead away from the battle!" he called in excitement.

Abruptly, as one, our feet stumbled to a halt, reaching a long drawn out shadow upon the grass, and our eyes dragged themselves up to stare ahead.

"Into Fangorn forest," he whispered, face grimly set.

"Fangorn," Gimli muttered, "What madness drove them in there?"

"Necessity," was my reply, given with a grimace. "My heart tells me it will lead us all into strange places before the end."

The forest leant in, bristling, and the darkness soaked into my eyes. Strange places indeed, though I doubted the dark of this earliest of forests would be the strangest place that my feet would be drawn to before the war was out.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 46<em>**

I cried in joy as I saw the familiar figure walking through the gardens towards me. I would recognise that face anywhere, even if it had changed drastically in the long years that he had been away.

"Arathorn!" I shouted, and I began to sprint towards him with my arms out wide.

We collided with a laugh, and he swung me up into his arms, twirling me around in a wide circle as if we were still teenagers again.

"Arí! It is good to see you little sister!" he said exuberantly.

"It has been too long!" I said, pulling away to take in his rough, weather beaten garb and dirt encrusted face. He looked exhausted, though he still held the youth of a twenty-five year old. His kind eyes, wise beyond their years, sparkled at me, almost appearing out of place in a face that had seen so much toil.

"That it has, almost eight years by my count – if you ignore our brief meeting on your fortieth," he clasped my hands in his and grinned like a young boy.

I laughed and started to pull him towards the rooms reserved for the Dúnedain children. I could not prevent the slight bounce that took place in the balls of my feet.

"You, big brother, need a wash. How long has it been since you had one of those, eh?" I said mischievously and he cringed, looking down at himself.

"Too long, I have been on the road for a mighty long time and a bath is not something regularly found out in the bush."

I smiled and rejoiced at seeing my cousin alive and well; I had worried about my eldest sibling for too long now and having him here soothed the slow growing ache in my heart. I had been increasingly lonely these last few years, counting down keenly for my coming of age when I hoped it all would change.

"Have you seen Arnor lately? He visited last year briefly, but he seemed disheartened and withdrawn whenever we were together," I asked, watching Thorn carefully.

He glanced at me shrewdly and I saw the awareness deep in his eyes swell as he studied my face.

"Yes," he said finally and decisively. "I have seen him, and he speaks often of Rivendell and, though he does not say so, I know he misses both you and the city."

I thought over his words, becoming steadily confused as more implications presented themselves. If Arnor missed me so then why was he so forlorn when he came to visit? It made no sense, and why was Thorn looking at me as if I should know what he is thinking? He knew something and I could just tell by the look in his eyes that no amount of persuasion would sway him to tell.

I sighed heavily, dragging a hand through my loose silver hair. It was long now, almost reaching my waist and I knew I would have to cut it soon.

"I have missed him too – the both of you," I said, willing my thoughts not to head down a path I knew would have me in tears.

I was forty-six; Arathorn was fifty-two. About a quarter of what he and Arnor would live to, should his luck be fair, yet I wasn't even, by the count of elves, an adult. I was mortal, was I not? There was no doubt in my mind that I would choose that path when the time came, and here I was wasting my days in the quiet shelter of Rivendell, no use to anyone but those who clung to me due to their own anxiety. The days passed quickly here, where everyone was immortal and days were mere grains of sand compared to their years of life. Yet, when one of my much-missed loved ones came to visit, _minutes_ sped up with all the speed of an elven horse, robbing me of precious hours.

"I will be of age in four years," I blurted suddenly, and then looked to the floor downcast as I heard my own words.

We were approaching the rooms by now and as I spoke Thorn paused to turn to me. I didn't look up at his eyes for I knew what I would see there, and I did not want to see the worry that would fall heavy from him.

"Yes, you shall," he said slowly, and I heard him sigh.

"It sounds silly," I whispered to the stone flag stones. "It makes me seem so young when I am but six years younger than you, you who has been a man for so long..."

"You know this sister. They only worry for you, Aríanna," he said softly, and I looked up at the use of my full name. "They cannot see that you are older in spirit than any of the other elflings they have nurtured in the past. To them you shall only be mortal until it comes to actually be – should it happen."

"Which it will," I said with determination.

I did not look to see how he frowned, nor how his eyes became poignant and knowing. It was not for many years that I learnt, from Lord Elrond, he had foreseen, by the grace of his people that lent him foresight, my choice to become immortal. At the time, though, I did not see the glance.

"Either way, you may join the race of men in their gift, but you still hold the grace and beauty of a first born, and you know how they consider elflings."

His grey eyes looked at me calmly and frankly, and I found myself nodding.

"Yes. But I shall be an adult in _their _eyes soon, and they cannot deny me my wishes then," I said stubbornly, and Thorn rolled his eyes playfully.

"And I pity those who'll try to stop you," he replied, and we continued our walk, conversation pushed to the back of our attentions, and quickly, in comfortable silence, we reached the door to their rooms. We both entered and Arathorn excused himself to have his bath while I sat in the common room, looking out through the window at the city that sprawled elegantly around me.

When Thorn returned (clean as a babe and in new elven clothes) I had my new question ready to burst from me, and I hardly waited for him to sit before letting it loose.

"Will you allow me to travel with the Dúnedain when I come of age?" My cousin blinked at the question.

"I could not stop you by saying no, could I?" he replied, somewhat surprised.

I simply shrugged.

"If _you _said it in all seriousness then I would not. If Arnor said no I would be stubborn about it," I said, looking my eldest brother in the eyes.

He chuckled.

"I take it Arnor was rather unyielding when you asked?" he asked, and I scowled.

"If I asked whether or not I could travel to the Shire with twenty elven warriors he would claim I'd be beset with danger and would rope me to a tree to prevent me leaving," I said grumpily, and Arathorn laughed.

"Yes I suppose he would," he chuckled before looking at me appraisingly. "I will not stop you from going, you have the right to go, and I cannot say you do not have the skills to survive, but Arí…" Here he looked at me sternly. "It is not fun and games out there, it is dangerous, and I have seen many men die beyond these borders."

I bristled.

"I know what it is like, Arathorn."

He looked at me hard.

"Perhaps, but have you ever seen a man die?

* * *

><p><strong>Aríanna - Present<strong>

The forest was murky and sang of old magic. The power seemed to infest everything: pumping through roots below and up into the tallest bows, it even seemed to sparkle briefly in the shrubs, moss and vines. It swam through the air, this magic that seemed so wild and _raw_, so sincere and primal, compared to the controlled and graceful magic of the elves. It thrummed in my blood and awe had my head turning and craning around me. I could feel the trees watching our path as they groaned in their ancient speech. Light filtered through the branches above and fell in streaks that wove amongst the trees before dappling over the green and the earth. It was incredible, and I fancied that I could feel the life pulse of the very forest, its beating heart, over my skin and in my bones.

"This forest is old. So old it makes me feel young… like I have not felt since being with you children," Legolas said wonderingly as he ran a hand over a tree trunk.

Gimli twisted and turned, trying to look in every direction at once, while his hand grasped the handle of his axe. Above us the trees groaned and their deep voices vibrated deep in the ground.

"The trees are speaking to one another," Legolas said in surprise, and Gimli twitched.

"Speaking? Oh, right. That's good," the Dwarf replied shiftily.

I rested a hand on his restless shoulder; he gulped and lowered his axe, and the trees were soothed instantly.

"Relax, master Gimli, the trees here will not hurt you without cause," I said soothingly.

The Dwarf merely grumbled.

"Without cause? Right. Does stepping on their roots count? What about breathing?" He mumbled sardonically.

I exchanged a look with Legolas and chuckled under my breath.

Suddenly I felt my senses tingle; the hairs on the back of my neck seemed to bristle. My eyes and those of the prince met and in them I saw the same recognition. My skin buzzed; we were not alone.

Legolas moved to Aragorn's side calmly while I fingered the hilt of Nórui; I heard him speak softly in elven.

"Aragorn, nad nâ ennas,*" he whispered with suppressed tension.

"Man cenich?*"My cousin asked the Prince, equally hushed.

Blue eyes flickered, senses attuned, while my own felt an energy gather at my back. Powerfully, for I could feel it swelling as the very blood in my veins throbbed with energy; I knew of only one power on this earth that could create such an effect as this.

"The White Wizard approaches."

"Do not let him speak, for he shall set a spell on us," was Aragorn's reply, calm as ever in the face of danger.

My senses intensified, until even the silence held secrets. My hands itched to unleash my faithful blade that hung ready under my fingers. The weight on my shoulders, my bow and arrows gifted to me by Elrond, was ready. The tightness around my right leg, the knife my cousins gave me, was ready. My muscles tensed and time slowed; I saw Aragorn glance between us. _Ready?_

We span and hands flew to weapons, swords cut the air in eagerness, leaving white flashes of their path to hang in the air. A bow was draw swiftly, arrows nocked, the flash of the sharp tip an arch overhead. An axe, heavy, ready and raised to fight, was hefted. And everything was overwhelmed by the intensity of a bright white light.

It was blinding! Vaguely I could distinguish a figure standing proud as the centre of the radiance. It was pointed and cutting, shocking in its unnatural strength and the very light seemed to be alive magic. I raised a hand to my eyes, as if that would help.

Then it all went wrong.

Arrows burned to cinder, blades burned white hot and our feet were stitched to the ground. Weapons fell as pain shot into hands, I cried out as I watched my fiery blade glow and fall, my own hand releasing her to the ground. Then he spoke.

"You are tracking two Hobbits. They came this way, the day before yesterday. They met someone... they did not expect. Does this comfort you?" The voice seemed to be everywhere, to be everything. It wavered with power and overlapped over its self with magic, an endless echo in a single syllable. I had never heard such a voice, and yet... it was familiar, I thought.

"Show yourself!" My cousin called out angrily.

The light slowly dimmed, and the figure stepped out of the blaze. White hair, white cloth and bright watchful eyes, a brilliant blue. To my side Aragorn fell to his knees in shock; Legolas let out a cry and I felt a grin spread over my face.

"It is impossible," Aragorn gasped, while I let out a joyful spout of laughter.

"Wizards!" I said in amusement. "Never trust them, I say!"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 56 – Gandalf<em>**

There was a knock on Elrond's door, and my old friend called out for them to enter. I looked up and saw an Elleth with silvery hair walking in. Her grey eyes flashed over me and I saw curiosity alight in their depths. I could tell that she was young, in terms of the elves at least, and there was also a slight lack of light inside her soul –a slight dimness in comparison to her fellows - which sparked my curiosity.

"Ah, Gandalf, may I introduce Lady Aríanna, daughter of Arassuil and Eruianna. Arí, this is Gandalf the Grey," Elrond said, and Aríanna smiled at me, handing over a scroll to Elrond.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Gandalf; I have heard much of you. My cousin spoke highly of the Greyhame from his travels." She spoke in a fair voice, though she was beset with sorrow – presumably from this cousin who –

Wait, did he say Arassuil? Of the Dúnedain? Then the cousin must have been Arathorn son of Arador! And that means she must be -

"Ah! Then you must be the Lady Peredhil that I have heard so much of; I hear that you frequently travel with the Dúnedain in wilderness?" I said joyfully, and the lady laughed merrily.

It was now, looking over her, that I saw the difference between her and the usual elven ladies. Of _course _her inner light was dimmer, for she was half-elven, but this was not the only difference with the Lady that caught my eye. She was built stronger than typical ladies, more like an elven warrior, and her hair was shorter and pulled into a braid. My quick eyes noted the firmness of her fingers and the calluses bought at the expense of sword and bow. She wore a long sure fitting grey coat over a simple forest green cotton gown, very unlike the elegant and delicate dresses worn by most Ladies.

"At the dread of her mother," Elrond said fondly. "I blame your cousins."

Aríanna smiled lightly.

"Indeed, Arathorn in particular used to relish in dragging his lady cousin into the mud and ditches," she said, and she bit down a sob with a deep in breath before grinning at the Elven Lord. "I think he thought I would grow weary of it and beg to be brought back to Rivendell, but alas, his plan went horribly awry. It was very nice meeting you, Gandalf the Grey. I shall leave you now."

Elrond smiled forlornly as we watched the elleth leave the room with a strong stride, almost mannish though still light footed. My friend turned to me suddenly with quick eyes that held suspicion.

"You had best not drag that young elleth into trouble, my friend. Arnor of the Dúnedain does that well enough and I did not lie when I said her mother, Eruianna, worries deeply."

I blinked and tried to look innocent as the Elven lord shot me a stern stare.

"Trouble? Drag? I am affronted. There were no such thoughts running through my head, I assure you," I replied, peering at my friend over my beard.

"Indeed," he said, though not fooled, truth be told; the thought _hadn't _occurred to me, however, it certainly had now...

Yes... I had heard of this lady – briefly and only in passing, though it had been – and I could not help but query over the possibilities. A stubborn Elven lass – talented, too, if the hearsay was to be trusted - fighting and travelling with the Men of the West in the wilderness, determined to live as her paternal kin did...

It's not as if the choices would be any less her own, oh no! She would just have a few more, that was all, just a few more options, pathways, you could say, to a... a fuller potential! Yes... sometimes things had to happen, small things, to ensure that a whole range of consequences can come into play, for better or worse. Some things were meant to happen...

I was not one to meddle - typically... but I was not averse to giving just a few nudges, now and then...

* * *

><p><strong>Translations:<strong>

"Aragorn, nad nâ ennas," _[Aragorn, there's something out there] _

"Man cenich?" _[What do you see?]_

* * *

><p><strong>I love reviews! Thank you: ccgnme, Dalonega Noquisi, raposa, Gwilwillith, Starlight5, Kaida Graehwyng! <strong>_  
><em>


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Big thanks as ever to my star Beta ****ArwenJaneLilyLyra!******

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>_  
><em>

_For many days and nights did pass_

_And rains did come and go_

_Unchosen lady swept the paths_

_And searching in the frozen lands_

_For whom she did not know_

_"Brother of the broken sword, brother of my kin_

_For you I've heard within my dreams_

_But naught of you have seen"_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 15<em>**

"Ada!" I shouted, charging down the path to where my father sat talking with a passing elf.

He looked up at my call and I saw him blink in shock at the obvious anger running wild within me. He nodded farewell to the elf, who left with nothing but a glance of curiosity in my direction. I marched right up to him and he stood to face me.

"Ada! They say that I cannot train in combat and survival like Arathorn and Arnor did! They say that because I am an elleth it is not suitable for me, and that I should become learned in the arts and delicacies!" I cried out, "I shan't do it! I would rather leave for Taurdal than suffer to learn embroidery and weaving!"

My father sighed, his brows knitting together in what I thought to be indecision. I clenched my jaw and stood tensely with my hands balled into fists at my side.

"Arí... they think such things only for your benefit." I opened my mouth but he held a hand for me to stop. "The training your cousins endured was arduous, and required constant dedication for they had but five years to prepare themselves for the wild. For them it was not out of choice, Arí, but necessity. You have many years in which you can learn those skills should you wish, but you are young now, and should not have to worry as such."

"But Ada," I said desperately. "I do not_ want_ to become immortal, so I am_ not_ as young as you say; I wish to help the Dúnedain, like you, like my cousins, before my years are through! I know how difficult the training is – truly! – I am prepared to do it! I do not wish to be helpless, to sit by a fire for the rest of my life with a needle and thread, a flute or whatever else, what kind of existence is that? You know me,Ada; you know how I would loathe that, you know I could never survive as one so useless. Please father,Ada, can't I at least have a chance?"

His grey eyes, so alike to my own, stared at me hard; deep into mine they delved and I wondered, half fearfully, what he would find within my own soul. His jaw was clenched and his brow creased, and I perceived a deep soreness in his face, a battle of choices, though whether between his own contrasting views or a conflict between his will and the wishes of others, or perhaps both together, I did not know. He breathed in, then, and it was a breath full of meaning and made judgments. I felt as if I were clinging to the edge, ready to either drop or climb.

"I cannot deny you your wishes," He heaved a slow sigh and I felt the wings of my heart lift in an updraft. "If truly they are chosen. It is _your_ life, though it pains me acutely to allow it."

"Thank you, Ada." I leapt into his arms and he chuckled.

"I shall talk with Lord Elrond," he said, and I pulled back grinning.

For now it didn't matter that these next few years would be trying; I knew it to be true, but I was prepared for it. What mattered now was the trust my father had placed in me and the crucial step I had made to my goal. I thought little of how Arathorn would frown and sigh, how Arnor would be livid, mother nervous and sorrowful. I didn't think of how the elves would disagree: Elrond doubtful, the Twins amused and all the rest disappointed.

No, for now I was excited and ready, enlivened with the opportunities that lay ahead of me.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna - Present<em>**

"I fell, too far and too deep..." the aged wizard said, and his eyes seemed to vanish into the past. "Through fire and water... from the lowest cavern to the highest peak... I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside."

A Balrog, it was so hard to imagine the darkest of stories coming to life. I knew of Gothmog, Fëanor, Ecthelion and Glorfindel; I knew the stories of the powerful, corrupt Maia. And yet here was Gandalf, my dear friend, who had felled one himself – and returned to tell of it.

"Darkness took me, and I strayed, out of thoughts and time... but it was not the end," his eyes focused again on us. "I felt life awaken inside me again."

"Gandalf!" Aragorn cried in joy; this seemed to startle him.

"Gandalf? Yes, that is what they called me... you may call me so still. I was Gandalf the Grey," he said musingly before looking at us again, this time with a smile. "_I_ am Gandalf the White."

"We thought you to be Saruman," I said.

"I am Saruman!" was his frank response. "Moreover, I am Saruman as he should have been, returned until my task is complete. But first, before we go onwards to Edoras, I have messages to deliver from Lady Galadriel, with whom I gained precious counsel and healing."

He turned first to Aragorn.

"To Aragorn I was bidden to say this:"

_*****Where now are the Dúnedain, Elessar, Elessar?_

_Why do thy kinsfolk wander afar?_

_Near is the hour when the Lost should come forth,_

_And the Grey Company ride from the North._

_But dark is the path appointed for thee:_

_The Dead watch the road that leads to the Sea."*****_

I frowned at the words and looked to Aragorn, who stood grim beside me.

"They are mysterious words and there is much to be wondered about..." he said with a heavy sigh.

"Fateful, perhaps, and veiled with many meanings, but neither would I say that they are hopeless, cousin," I replied, and he nodded, if a little slowly.

"To Legolas," Gandalf continued and said elf shifted, "she sent this word:

_*****Legolas Greenleaf long under tree_

_In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!_

_If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,_

_Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.*****_

_But Greenleaf fear not to make your stand,_

_ For Hope's fair kin shines bright at hand._

"To the Lady Aríanna-"

"Because, doubtlessly, the Lady has foreseen me being here," I interrupted with a smile, which was answered.

"Doubtlessly. To the Lady Aríanna:

_Why still does the heavy heart hide?_

_Where does the restless soul ever glide?_

_I have seen your shadow, fairest Dusk Star,_

_Heryn Bien, you who have wandered far._

_Do not avoid what you perceive before end,_

_For perhaps then, you yourself shall never mend."_

I nodded, pondering the words. They were not hard to decode, she had said as much to me last we met, the closing couplet, though…that was where the real mystery lay. What had I noticed that could ever mend me? And why would I wish to avoid such a thing? And what end? So many questions...

I felt eyes on me, Aragorn's eyes certainly, and the Prince's, too.

"Then she sent me no message?" I heard the bitter voice of Gimli mutter.

"They are not cheerful words, Gimli; would you prefer her to speak to you openly of your death?" Legolas said, his voice heavy.

"If she had nothing more to say, yes."

"What is this?" Gandalf said, obviously coming out of a daze. "Your pardon, Gimli! I was pondering the messages. I think I can guess what her words may mean. But indeed she sent words to you – neither dark nor foreboding. 'To Gimli son of Glóin,' she said. 'give his Lady's greetings. Lock-bearer, wherever thou goest my thoughts go with thee. But have a care to lay thy axe to the right tree!'*****"

I looked to my dwarf friend and saw a vibrant singing glee upon his bearded face. I chuckled under my breath.

"In a happy hour you have returned to us, Gandalf!" he cried exuberantly, swinging his axe onto his broad shoulder and humming, "Come, come! Since Gandalf's head is now sacred, let us now find heads, which are not revered, for me to cleave!"

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 50<em>**

On the day of my fiftieth birthday, Elrond held a party in honour of my coming of age. I woke early to my naneth fussing around my room, drawing out gown after gown from my wardrobe. I hardly wore those elaborate pieces of clothing, much preferring simple cotton or linen dresses, or even better, leggings and shirts. It was a sore point of argument when mother saw me attired as such, because she knew that it meant I would be going out to train: something she hated.

"Arí? Do you think periwinkle purple or powder blue would be more fitting?" she asked without turning around, holding up the two dresses for inspection.

"How about mud brown?" I asked sarcastically, glancing out of the window to see that the sun had only just risen. I groaned and fell back into my pillow.

Mother sent me an amused look.

"Come now, rise and shine. It's you're coming of age day; you want to look pretty for the party, don't you?" she said, and I rolled my eyes and turned onto my stomach, pushing my face into my pillows.

I heard naneth hum in annoyance, and a few seconds later she called lightly to me from across the room.

"You know that your cousins will be arriving at noon, don't you?"

I sat bolt upright in bed.

"Arnor and Arathorn are coming?" I demanded.

I hadn't seen the boys together in almost seven years! I couldn't believe I would miss something as important as them _both _coming to visit.

"Oh yes," she said nonchalantly. "I thought you knew? They sent word last month – now, do you think the pink and white gown would look terribly out of place with your silver hair?"

I blinked at the visions of me wearing a pink dress in front of my cousins and cringed. Arnor would never be able to stop laughing, while Thorn would politely look away with a half smile. I sighed in defeat, knowing I'd have to give my input on my clothing choice.

"Try the evening blue one with silver embroidery," I said resignedly, and mother twisted around to give me a radiant smile.

"Yes, that one is very beautiful – I did think you'd like it," she said, and I saw that it was already waiting for me at the foot of my bed.

I grumbled at the manipulative nature of mothers as I dragged myself out of bed.

You'd think after fifty years you'd be able to get dressed and ready on your own, wouldn't you? Naneth disagreed, apparently, and I nearly had to forcefully escape the room when she tried to do my hair in some elaborate style. In the end I managed to get her to do just a simple braid on either side of my head, each bound into a fairly simple flower pattern – with only one shiny thing nestled into the depths. I was quite proud of how well I managed to calm her and make her drop the box full of small gems and flowers.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Legolas<em>****_ - Present_**

We galloped hard over the plains, Gandalf taking lead on his beautiful Meara. Gandalf! Oh the joy to see that wise, yet foolish, Istar again! Even with his white garb hidden by a grubby grey cloak, he seemed to radiate a new intense light. The White! The Dark Lord may have nine black riders but we had one white rider and he was mightier than they put together!

As we rode I found myself looking to where Aríanna of Rivendell rode upon her mare. She was a strange elleth, bizarre in the simplest things, yet also in the most profound of ways but nonetheless still an elven Lady in many ways: she walked differently, less deliberately and more unconsciously graceful, with a constant awareness of her surroundings; she talked differently, more akin to the style of Aragorn, and she rarely communicated in elvish, even when conversing between just myself and she; she dressed differently, choosing to wear leggings, light shirts and leather with a curved blade hung at her hip; she reacted differently to those around her, less shy, yet less confident and trusting of others; her hand was never far from the reach of her blade and her eyes were sharp and... unforgiving, I thought. Then, of course, there was her choice of living. What made this Lady Peredhel choose a life away from the comfort of a city and instead favour the brutal wilderness? Why would she choose to leave Rivendell to join her father's family far from the simple comforts and away from risk of death?

It made little sense.

Yet she _was _an elleth; one who held her own and relied on her own strengths. She was soft in her gaze and protective towards Aragorn, overly so for he was now a man, even if he was young in the scheme of things. She was oft to sing or hum a melody and was gentle with the horse she now rode. She was proud, but quietly so, as many ladies were, and determined in her place and duty.

I could not help watching her, this strange new woman, unique in her own right and dignified despite her youth. She was a beautiful elf, too, even measured with the many beautiful elves I had met. Her hair, though shorter than usual elves, was silky and glimmered under sun and star with a silver light. Her pale skin, clear and faintly blushed. Her elegantly curved ears, so often hidden by a cloak. Her hands, firm and surprisingly calloused, long and deft. Her eyes, a crisp but soft grey...

Yes, she was beautiful.

However, she was so sad... I had noticed it quickly, from her face, her speech and habits, and from the way my friend Aragorn looked to her. Her eyes were solemn and she only sparingly smiled properly without care. The night before the red dawn she had looked so... lonely as she walked isolated in the hills, and I had heard her humming softly, a sad melody. She seemed so used to solitude.

She seemed to draw my gaze wherever she was and I found that I resented the fast pace we made if just for the lost chances when I could speak with her. She seemed to enlighten a curiosity inside me, as if she were a puzzle.

Gimli let out a particularly loud grunt of displeasure from behind me, snapping me from my musings. I rolled my eyes at the way my thoughts had drifted, why, you would think me an elf in youth! I, Prince Legolas Greenleaf, was becoming positively obsessed!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Notes:<span>**

* These parts are taken directly from the book Lord of the Rings and are Tolkien's own poetry *

* * *

><p><strong>AN: thank you reviewers for chapter 5: Starlight5, Kaida Graehwyng, Nessa Leralonde, Gwilwillith, Dalonega Noquisi, ccgnme and also Antiquatedgirl18 and Jessa for earlier chapters <strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: (the 'I want to hit something moment' when you've written your AN, formatted the chapter, and thanked everyone and you accidentally press the back button -.-)**

**A gigantic thank you to my brilliant Beta, ArwenJaneLilyLyra, who is so amazing and reliable!**

**I probably won't be able to update until after Christmas (being taken - hem - _dragged_ - hem - to Cornwall, where the computer situation is unknown and the old people have most likely planned every hour of our visit - because I don't have three essays to do - No!) **

**But anyway! ****Happy Holidays everyone!**

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

_Then once upon a falling day_

_Did words drop on her ears_

_They touched upon her heavy heart_

_She glimpsed beyond her tears_

_"Lady fair, Lady fair, heryn bien_

_And faithful friend,_

_Look to me, look to me"_

_And then, too late, she came to see_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 50 - Arathorn<em>**

We reached Rivendell just as the sun reached its peak. It was a glorious spring day in March, and around every corner the elves were full of joy that their daughter had finally come of age. As I approached the stables, Arnor and Uncle Arassuil by my sides, I heard the sounds of music in the air and sweet voices radiated over the buildings. Once our horses were seen to and we ourselves had been seen to, we, now washed and re-clothed, went off to find the birthday girl.

As ever it was the sound of her cry that warned us of her racing towards us, and only then did we finally see her.

"Ada! Thor! Arnor!" came the sound of her fair elven voice, and I looked up with a grin to see her figure running to us, without care and as fast as she could despite her long skirts.

I could not help but gasp at the sight of her; how could a mortal not, when faced with the perfection of the first born? She was beautiful; there was no doubt about it, nor did I ever forget it. She was dressed in a long midnight blue gown that hugged her tall, slender figure and glistened with silver threads that matched her hair, which was pulled away from her face. The sleeves opened out from her elbows and whipped behind her as she ran. Precious spun hair danced behind her, like threads of gossamer, seeming to have a life of its own as it twirled in the air. Her face shone with elven beauty and, as it did every so often, I _truly_ – not whimsically - realised her mother was elf.

I glanced at my brother and grinned at the star struck look on his face as she ran towards us.

She came to us and immediately pounced on her father, moving quickly to myself and then Arnor. Her face glowed with joy and her pure, free laugh rang through the air fluidly.

"Oh! My dearest family! It is so good to see you!" she cried between laughter, "I have been lonely of late and it does such wonders to finally have this day! Come, you must be hungry and weary. Come!"

I could not help but laugh at the unrestrained delight and eagerness of her words. Why! I had not seen my cousin this enthused since her childhood! She chatted at full speed as we walked, and it seemed to me that she was trying to go over everything from the last ten years in the space of a few minutes.

"You should see the Halls of Music! Oh! It is all so beautiful! I can scarce believe the elves went to all this trouble for me," she said with gleaming eyes, wide and perilously innocent.

"Of course they did, Arí," Uncle Arassuil said softly, "You are their daughter as much as you are mine."

She looked to him sharply, her face, without warning, becoming pensive and darkened. Her eyes fell into mithril hardness, and glinted coldly as such, too.

"Nay," she replied solemnly, "I am less than half _their _child, and shall become even less so, one day."

Afterwards we became quiet, and I took a glance towards her next to me; her face was set and her joy had been visibly dampened. My brother was watching her, too, and I couldn't quite put a name to his look. It was half concern, but also pleased - almost smug- and, though I could not put a label to it, I felt I knew his expression.

We were both aware of the choice our cousin was to make, how could we not when it was us whom she came running to when Elrond told her of her fate? We thought about it differently, though, one of the few things we disagreed upon.

It was I who thought it would be better for her to choose immortality, though it ever hurt me to think of it, the idea of her wasting away on our behalf injured me far more. I knew that her heart would shatter when we died; I knew it like I knew the sun would rise to vanquish night. Nonetheless, I also knew that our Arí would be able to carry on, for she was strong, stubborn and knew what we would say to her fading. Our lives, those of the Dúnedain, would be a constant battle; we would push through each day with half an ear, half an eye, and a ready hand, waiting, watching, for danger. Except darkness _would_ fade, and if our Arí could live to see that time, live to meet new people, to love and have joy, how selfish would it be to hold her to our path?

My younger brother, nay, he could not help but cling to his own dreams. He knew I was right, as he loved her, just as I did - if not more, so he _knew _in his heart that I was right. Yet he was selfish, as we are all oft to be, and he thought of the final end and the fate of souls. He couldn't help but be satisfied when she seemed so opposed to the idea of binding her soul here.

But I had seen what he had not, for the stars had whispered in my ears, and I knew... I truly knew.

"_Who can say in such cases what is worst: the bitterness of mortality or immortality? To whither or watch. And she shall know both."_

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><p><strong><em>Present - Aríanna<em>**

As we rode I felt the eyes of Legolas on my back, long years of solitude making me keen to the stares of others. It was disconcerting to say the least, and I discovered that I did not quite know how to consider this interest he seemed to have found in me. I was unusual, I could not deny it, but truly I was of no great interest. I was merely a common Peredhel, of no noble birth in the lineage of elves, and an outsider for distancing my own people. They called me their daughter but I was less than half theirs – I had said it before many times, and I would say it again.

Yet this Prince watched me to the slightest whisper of my hair, the simple twitch of my hand. Why? It was not as if I even knew him – or him me – but nonetheless... he set me on edge. It did not matter whether he sent me a simple smile, a quiet word, a look (and there were many of all), the truth was: he unnerved me!

Not that I thought he did it deliberately... He was a Prince, an elf, after all...

What frustrated me most of all was that I could not pretend that those eyes did not awaken some flame inside me. But no, I had long since sworn off those feelings. I was being foolish; I was acting the part of the naive elfling they all wished I would be. I had long proven myself that I was not to be that elleth, that dainty lady; I had travelled further than most and been through trails that warranted song...

I would not be foolish.

_To be wise is to learn from your mistakes, to be a fool is to repeat past follies._ I pushed away the voice, willing myself to not feel the sorrow and doubt that came with them.

"Speak Aríanna, Legolas," Gandalf called suddenly as we slowed at the crest of a hill, and I snapped to attention. "Tell us what you see there!"

I looked ahead and saw that, as I had been musing, the vast expanse of sky and ceaselessly rolling hills that disappeared into the sky, far into the distance, had changed. For now, before us, the mountains reached their long, ice dusted fingers up to the sky. It was in their wake that I saw our destination, standing proud in the morning sun.

The city of the Horse Lords rose up from the plains upon a crest of a hill that looked as if it had been punched up from the earth. We watched, silent in the brunt of the wind, the wizard, the man, the dwarf, the elf and the peredhel.

Legolas raised his hand to the beams of the newly risen sun and I sharpened my gaze.

"I see a white steam that comes down from the snows," he said, "and from its base a green hill rises from the shadow of the vale."

"Houses are gripped there, with their roofs rising to puddle around the pinnacle," I told them, seeing the sight before me as sharp as a well refined blade, "surrounding them a dike and mighty wall stand, like a brim to the hill. Upon the highest point I see a building proudly glimmering in the light."

"Yes," the elf said in agreement as he brushed away a lock of blond hair, "and it seems to my eyes that the hall is thatched with gold, for the light of it shines far over the land. Men in bright mail stand at its doors, though all else with in the courts are yet asleep."

"Those courts are Edoras," said Gandalf, "and Meduseld is that golden hall. There dwells Théoden son of Thengel, King of the Mark of Rohan. Our road now is straight but we must ride more warily, for war is abroad and, though it seems it from afar, the Rohirrim do not sleep. Draw no weapon, friends, nor speak heated words until we come to the King's seat."

I moved my horse to stay alongside Legolas' and grinned at the other occupant, still clinging with short arms.

"Take note of that, Master Gimli; no heated words until we stand before the King."

The dwarf glanced at me shrewdly then, after a pause, bared his teeth amongst his beards in a grin of his own. He let out a grumbling laugh.

"Much thanks, My Lady. I'll be sure to keep my messages for the King's ears only," he replied.

Gandalf twisted to glance at the pair of us, his eyes glinting.

"So you should, though I pity the man who must stand up to the brunt words of both Dwarf and the Lady Aríanna herself," the Istar said, and it was a joy to see the familiar glance of amusement from my old friend.

"You would know, old man," I replied with my own smile, small and fleeting, but very much alive.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 13<em>**

There is one day of my life that I shall always recall with crystal clarity. Every word, as detailed and technical as they were, was imprinted into my mind within those short hours. They were my life; they were the most crucial and significant words I would ever hear. It had been a wintry day, fresh with bitter air and frost sparkling amongst the grasses. I had been called from my rooms by my mother, who had seemed oddly grim, even with my visiting father at her side.

It had been curious, I remember thinking, for father usually brought joy to my mother during his visits. Yet here the both of them were: - each with a frown and apprehension written clearly on their faces. Father had wrapped an arm around mother's waist and I had heard him mutter quietly in her ear.

They had told me that the Lord Elrond wished to speak with me in his office, and by the way they said it I knew it was important.

Elrond had been waiting, as they said, and he too had seemed unusually dour. I had wondered then, half in desperation, briefly, if it was the chilled weather that had infected everyone into seriousness. Even then I had not believed it. The elven lord had then indicated to the seat opposite him, and I had moved to it slowly.

"Aríanna, thank you for coming," he said in his strong, wise voice.

Then he sighed.

"What I have to tell you now is very important; it is essential that you pay close attention, as this concerns _you_ personally." I nodded, and the lord pressed his fingers together before laying his chin on their steeples. "Every sentential creature has two parts that make up their being: their Fëa and their Hröa. The Fëa is what you call the soul, and the Hröa is the body. These two parts are vital to one another, because without the soul the body would die and, likewise, without the body the soul would be powerless. Do you understand?"

I nodded, wondering what the point to this was but holding my tongue with patience.

"For the Elves, our Fëa is bound to Arda, bound to the land and the world of the physical. This bind will remain until the end of this world. When our bodies die, our souls will remain and shall travel to the Halls of Mandos, where judgement shall be placed upon us. It is then the Valar Mandos' choice, and our own, whether we wish to be reincarnated into a new body or continue to reside in the Halls of Waiting. Carrying the sins of great evil will mean that Mandos is likely to prevent you from leaving the halls for eternity. This destiny, to reside in Arda for evermore, is both a curse and a blessing."

"With mortal men it is different: their souls are not bound to the land. They are but a visitor, and at the death of their bodies their souls are cut from Arda and are free to leave this world. They are not destined for the long wait that the Elves must undertake. Thus it is that the fate of men and elves are sundered."

Lord Elrond paused, observing me with clear grey eyes, which were deep with memory.

"Tell me, Aríanna, do you know why it is that your mother and father have had so much sadness?" he asked curiously, with no small measure of sadness.

I gulped and tried to arrange my thoughts; I felt as if things were slowly falling into place around me, but the pattern was still so blind to me that I could not yet understand.

"It is because my mother is of elven blood and father is a mortal man," I replied, and was relieved to see him nod.

"Yes, it is. Can you tell me now, considering what I have just told you, what it is about their difference that causes the most pain?"

"Oh..." I thought hard, and then it came to me, an avalanche. I felt my heart sink. "It is because, when father... dies, his Fëa will leave Arda forever, whereas mother's soul will have to remain here, even if she were to... die too, until the coming of the end of Arda."

Again Elrond nodded, and there was a pressure hanging in the air that told me our talk was not complete. So far I still could not think of anything that linked to me, though it was not far off, I was sure. He looked up to meet my eyes gravely.

"You are half-elven, Aríanna Arassuiell, just as I and my children are. Because of this your Fëa, your soul, is neither attached to Arda nor a visitor. You are neither immortal nor mortal, but you cannot stay within this limbo forever; you can only be one or the other when your Hröa dies."

Silence.

It was all quiet and I sat, still as the wooden table before me, still as my thoughts tried to pull back the words that drifted through them for closer inspection. The immortal lord, half-elven, did not speak to continue what he started, instead his eyes waited patiently.

"What happens, then?" I whispered. "What breaks the limbo? How do I know what I will become?"

"You choose. The Valar will ask you which race you would like to join and you will choose."

"Just like that?" I asked incredulously.

Elrond nodded, but his eyes were still solemn.

"You cannot go back on that choice, Aríanna; it is for all eternity. Either you shall become immortal and be bound here, or you shall choose to leave this world."

I paused, over whelmed by the fate that fell hard upon my shoulders. How could one choose something like that? Immortal or mortal. Valinor, my mother and eternity, or my cousins, my kin and the final release. Immortality, to watch as the world changes around me, to watch my brothers die, to watch it all fade away until I become like these graceful and serene elves. Mortality, to slowly deteriorate; to watch as my own body gives up, to be unbound from the life that I knew here in Rivendell. Immortality, to look into the mirror and see my own face, unchanged but weighted down with age; eyes, those eyes that surrounded me on all sides, heavy with too many years, deep as pits and overflowing with experiences and memories, staring at me out of a glossy mirror.

"When do I decide?" I asked, and I heard my voice as quiet as a breath.

"That is for fate to decide. Your time will come when it must, no sooner, no later. Not for many years; not until you have enough years behind you to make such a choice," he said, and then seemed to pause before obviously deciding not to continue.

I waited a moment, but he did not elaborate. I simply nodded and excused myself, wanting time to think.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Present - Legolas<em>**

The morning was bright and icily fresh, with birds over our heads sighing with all the joy and vibrancy of life. We came to a fast flowing stream, the one I had seen coming down from the mountains above. Passing over a ford and rising over a hill we looked upon the last stretch of our journey. All around, however, small mounds lifted up from the flat, their western sides white as the tips of the mountains. It was small white flowers, like a concentrated mass of stars embedded in the brilliant green, which caused the whiteness, and I smiled upon their fair sight.

"Look! There are the great barrows where the fathers of Théoden sleep, and on their site fair Evermind flowers." Gandalf told us. "Simbelmynë, the men of this country call them, for they bloom in all seasons and where dead men rest."

"Sixteen mounds," Aragorn said, looking out. "Many long years of men since the Golden Hall was made."

I blinked and looked again to where the city of men stood. I could scarce believe the weight of time for men, each ten summers becoming a heavy load, where to me it was little but the passing of one moment.

"Five hundred times the leaves of my home have fallen since then," I remarked. "Yet it seems little to us."

"And yet," the fair voice of Lady Aríanna broke in, and I looked to her where she sat upon Dwimor, staring proud and fondly at the settlement, "to the Men of the Mark that is a time that is held only by the power of song and story. They are a new people, fresh and free as their steeds, and history is fragile to them. They keep no written word for they trust in the power of language to hold their story. With them you may come to understand the importance of the ceaseless movement of life."

Aragorn nodded and, looking between the cousins, I seemed to glimpse the easy companionship that they had shared for many years. I had not seen my friend Aragorn look this way with any other; I thought it was alike to his respect of Gandalf, only fonder, more cherished, like an elder sibling, perhaps...

"Yes, now they call this land their home, their own, by the weight of years; their speech comes from their northern kin." He then began to sing softly, and though I did not recognise the language, nonetheless it captured my attention. It was rich and rolling, though, all at once, it held the hard, sternness of the mountains, and it carried a strong music.

"That, I would guess, is the language of the Rohirrim, for it is alike to the land itself," I said when he fell silent, "though I cannot guess what it means, save that it holds the bitterness of mortality."

"It is a poem that recalls the glory of Eorl the Young," Aríanna said, still with that look of affection towards the mortal men, "who came from the North on the back of the father of horses, who had wings upon his feet. It runs like this:

_*****Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?_

_Where is the helm and the haukberk, and the bright hair flowing?*****"_

I stared at her, shocked again at her abnormality for it was well known, even to me, that the language of the Rohirrim was closely guarded. That she knew it and spoke of these people with such love struck astonishment in my heart; would I ever solve the riddle that was Aríanna of Rivendell?

"You speak it also?" I asked, unable to hold the words, though they sounded youthful and uniformed to my ears.

"Indeed," she replied, again amused, "for I too have been among them, in times of war and otherwise. Though it is true they begrudged my presence at first and were not oft to trust an elf – or a female one, at that. You heard Lord Éomer; they have a superstition for witches and sorceresses."

"Not that you allowed many to know you in fact were a she," Aragorn said, turning to her with a humorous grin.

She laughed loud and free, unlike anything I had heard her give in the short space of time I had known her.

"Indeed! My disguise was well made and practiced. It was easy, very few suspected it, seeing only the face of an elf and allowing their expectations to create the rest," she replied proudly. "I do not think I will have neither need nor resources to create such a costume this time around."

Surprise after surprise! I looked to the lady in further amazement; it was becoming habit, it happened so frequently! To think, a lady dressing as a male – and getting away with it! It seemed I would have to prepare myself for the unexpected from this point on, if to keep up with this fiery elleth.

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><p><strong>*Tolkien's poetry = don't own*<strong>

**Many thanks to my fantastic reviewers: Cheerfully Blue, Nessa Leralonde, ccgnme, Gwilwillith, Dalonega Noquisi... and previous lovely people - THANK YOU. All you regulars - you know who you are - make my day so often! It doesn't matter how many reviews and adds and favourites I get from any of my stories - It excites and surprises me every time :D Still not quite used to the idea people read and like my writing! :D So Thank You!**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: SORRY. This took a long time, I know! ****If you think that was bad try being one of my _Black, White and Grey_ readers! ****But this is my longest chapter yet, so I hope that makes up for it.**

****This is currently Un-Beta-ed because ******much like myself it's the January rush for my Beta, **ArwenJaneLilyLyra, I'll be swapping them over once she's gone through it but nothing in the story will change.****

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

_Upon his chest drove deep a shaft_

_A mortal wound of poison black._

_She saw the earthly man, her love,_

_And ran to him with stars above._

_At last he looked to her, and her to he_

_"My Friend and brother, son of kin_

_I come at dusk to you, my joy_

_Upon my ears your voice does sing"_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Aríanna - Present<strong>_

Leading our steeds up the main road of the city, I felt my heart tremble in my chest and a great gloom to worm its way into my thoughts. Dust plumes rose from the ground where our horses trod and the air felt heavy and stifling in my chest. As I looked at the grey faces and silent eyes, I saw the city I had once known fading, the beautiful simplicity and pride... all but gone. There was an illness in the people of Rohan, a black vein of poison that had leaked into the hearts of people until all merriment was but a memory. It chilled me.

"You'd find more cheer in a graveyard…" Gimli muttered from behind me and I found myself nodding.

We came to the stairs of the Golden Hall and I looked up, away from the monotonous homes and distrustful eyes, to stare at the grand doors of our destination.

My eyes, however, landed instead on a single lone figure, clothed all in white and with a head of the lightest gold. My eyes met with hers across the distance and they were diamond hard, blue and fresh, and desperate. I could not hold back a gasp, for there, in those eyes was something I knew intimately, touching memories that hid just under the surface. Yet, as her blazing yet oddly hollow, gaze met mine, I saw her back straighten and her jaw clench. She turned abruptly and was gone with a flash of snow and gold.

I frowned but said nothing of the lady who had disappeared like a passing breeze.

Coming to the doors we found our way blocked by two men, armed and clothed as if for war. They were proud and, though they looked upon us with no small amount of awe, seemed determined to serve their purpose.

"Hail, comers from afar!" they said in their own language, an act of greeting and peace.

Then one stepped forwards and regarded us with weary eyes.

"I am Háma, the Doorward of Théoden," he said in common, "I must bid you lay your weapons aside here before you see the King, by order of Gríma Wormtongue."

I glanced at my companions uneasily as they began to remove their various weapons. I snorted lightly and it was with much displeasure that I swung my quiver and bow from between my shoulders, slid the knife from the right boot and, most uneasily, unfastened Nórui from my hip.

"Keep these well," Legolas was saying to Háma as he handed over his bow, quiver, and twin knives, "these come from the Golden Wood and the Lady of Lothlórien gifted them to me personally."

The man nodded, wide eyed, and quickly put them away, seeming not to want to hold them in his grasp for long. I rolled my eyes at the foolish superstition. Háma came next to me and his eyes widened a little more at seeing my obviously female person. I gave my items over, all save Nórui who I held firmly in my grasp for a moment longer as I looked to my cousin.

Aragorn was shifting slightly, his hand ghosting over his blade uneasily.

"It is not my will… to deliver Andúril to the hand of any other man."

"It is the will of Théoden," Háma said resolutely, "and this is the house of Théoden, not of Aragorn, even if he were King of Gondor, in place of Denethor."

"Truly," my nephew said, still ill at ease, "And I would do as the master of the house bade… if it were any sword but Andúril."

"Whatever its name is," the guard said, growing impatient, "you shall lay it here, or fight alone against all the men of Edoras."

"Come now!" Gandalf broke in, while I found my own amusement growing even as their annoyance, "This is idle talk! Here, Háma, is _my_ sword, Glamdring. Now let me pass, come Aragorn!"

"The Blade that was Broken shall have ample company, brother-son," I said, laying a hand upon his arm, I turned to Háma; "Here is Nórui now, who has served me well for many years. Watch her well for she is a quick and eager as her name tells and shall suffer no hand but the one she was made for."

Slowly Aragorn unbuckled his belt and he himself rested the sword upright by the other two.

"Well!" said Gimli, "If it has Andúril by its side, my axe may stay here too without shame! Come; let us see your master."

"Finally," I muttered.

But still the Doorward hesitated.

"Your staff," he said, pointing to the ash stick of the Wizard.

Gandalf bristled and his hand clenched on the would-be weapon.

"Foolishness," he snapped, "you would not remove an old man from his walking stick would you? I am old, if I cannot lean on my stick I will just sit out here until it pleases Théoden to hobble out here himself to speak with me."

I laughed and moved to stand next to my 'old and weary' friend.

"Every man has something too dear to trust to another," Aragorn said, his own laugh aligned with my own.

"Gentlemen, we are friends and wish the same as you. We have travelled far and my friends and I are weary of distrust," I said with kind eyes, pulling back my hood so the silver of my hair tumbled out. They spied it with no little wonder, "We ask little, will you not let us pass?"

They glanced and one another and Háma sighed at last and stepped back from his vigil stance. I glanced to my side and smirked lightly at Aragorn.

"Very well, you may go in," he said, "I shall trust to my own wisdom, which tells me you have no evil purpose. May you prove not that my trust is misplaced."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Aríanna is 50<strong>_

"So, Lady Aríanna, what do you plan on doing next?" the elven lord, Thavron the carpenter, asked me, "I have heard Lady Maeneil speak of hope that you shall join her in the Healing Halls."

"Oh yes! I am sure that Lord Elrond would be happy to tutor you; he does seem fond of you, my Lady," his wife said, smiling at me indulgently.

I laughed pleasantly at the hidden praise.

As the elves ever did between each other, they spoke to me in Sindarin and I responded in such. I wondered what it would be like to be far from this language, to only come across it on rare occasions. How would it be to ever speak in common, for the people around me to be deaf to that beautiful tongue? Would it fade, in time, till it felt strange and uncomfortable on my lips? Would I rejoice to hear it again when I returned to my home? Would I ache for it, wish for it? Or maybe I would rejoice to be away?

"Nay my Lords, fond of me or no, I doubt dearly that the Lord Elrond has such time to tutor a lady as restless as I. I fear I would frustrate him to no end!"

They all smiled knowingly, yet sadly as if a much loved hope had been washed away, even as they watched the tide come in. They all wished I would not head to danger as they all suspected I would. They had each in turn frowned at seeing me train with the blade, with the bow and the knife.

I looked across the room to where my cousin stood talking with Elladan and Elrohir. Thorn seemed deep in dissuasion with the twins and his face was set seriously as he talked, belying his overcast thoughts. I frowned but pushed it away, I knew that our people were going through a tough time; I had heard... many things, rumours mostly, of orcs gathering and strange suspicions.

Arnor was walking – no - striding towards me, blazing eyes landing on me with a force that made my heart plummet, as if it had been shoved of a high cliff. Angry, yes, he was angry, furious really, and I thought I knew why. He marched over and quickly bowed stiffly to Lord Thavron and Lady Lhimwen.

"Arí, can we talk?" he asked and I nodded mutely, following after him as he marched away.

I knew what was coming; I had been awaiting the drop of the pin all day. I had long known that my cousin hated the idea of me joining him in the wilderness, hated it with a fiery passion. I did not blame him for it, he knew what it would be like and he only thought of my safety.

My safety but not my heart.

I was withering away here, each day following the next in the same quick succession; it was pulling me to my limits. Thirty years of waiting, thirty years, only occasionally broken up by travels with the border guard, of training and fighting against people thinking only of my safety. I couldn't do it anymore and nothing would stop me, Arnor least of all.

"You are not going," Arnor hissed to me, suddenly spinning around as we entered one of the gardens.

I did not answer, merely crossed my arms over my chest and watched him, his face becoming pink in anger.

"Did you hear me Arí?" he demanded, "I am not going to let you go! You don't understand what it's like out there! You're safe here and that is one of the few things that keeps me going out there – knowing you're safe. I will not-! Are you even listening?"

I sighed, my breath coming out as a white cloud.

"Yes, I am listening but now it is your turn," I replied sternly, uncrossing my arms.

"No! I will not-" he started heatedly.

"Arnor!" I shouted, frustration bursting free. He had to understand, Arnor above all had to understand. He silenced. "Do you not see? I am dying with this waiting and this... this! I cannot stand to be so safe when you are not. I cannot sit here as you wish me to, wasting away my days like a pretty naive maiden. Safe? Who cares, this is no life, not for me. I am so _lonely_ – every day and hour – so desperately lonely and stressed to breaking point!" I sucked in a breath and let my eyes fall shut, "I spend each hour wondering if tomorrow I will get news of your death, of Arathorn's or Ada's or Arador's. Every single day, knowing it could happen without me being able to help - to know that I _could_ have done something – do you _know _what that is like? Do you not know me?"

My last words fell from my mouth as a sigh and I opened my eyes and looked up again at my cousin, my brother.

He stood silent, staring at me, staring through me. I knew he understood, I did, but he was fixated on the idea of me staying here. He knew also that I was just as capably as him but there were some things he had trouble handling.

"You could stop it," I whispered, "but to try would be to betray me. There is little that I would not do for you, Arnor, you can tell me now – right now – that you _need _me to stay here and I will follow your choice. That is the honest truth, though I may pretend it to be otherwise. Yet, Arnor... you would kill me to say so, you would be sentencing me to the choices of my mother."

I paused and looked away from those eyes to stare instead at the stars above. I heard Arnor groan in frustration and his hands reached out to pull me against his chest. He was not much taller than me but enough so that I could hide my face in his neck.

"Arí... what do you do to me? How can I say no? It hurts me to no end... it is a knife to my chest, a black arrow to my heart, spreading its poison, black and cruel. Yet I cannot say no, do you hear this Arí? _Gweston i de cherithon, pe iestog*"_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aragorn - Present<em>**

As we entered the hall Aríanna walked by Gandalf's side, her arm held out to him as a 'support'. She was whispering quietly in his ear and I recognised a look of apprehension flicker over her face before falling back into her careful disguise. Gandalf nodded once, no more than a slight flex of his chin, and my Aunt straightened, saying no more.

As I looked away, I saw that I was not the only one observing the pair but I pushed it to the back of my thoughts for now. I would come back to that.

The room was darker than I remembered - the pillars, red embossed, carving gloomy, lightless paths behind them. The light seemed heavy as it weaved through languidly twirling dust motes, and there, at the end of the hall, slumped as if will had all but fled the aging bones, sat the King.

The face of Théoden King was sagged and wrinkled, the eyes exhausted and lifeless. He looked up at our approach and I felt revulsion, seeing the poison of Saruman.

Something weighty settled in the centre of my lungs, to see age realised, to see what had become. I had seen this man, this once mighty leader, as a boy with gold hair and bright, innocent eyes - or as innocent as one can be when surrounded by war, politics and a greedy father. Yet this was a fleeting thought, and to my heart, I knew the way of things was as they were.

At his feet a man knelt across the stairs, eyes glinting black under curtains of lank black hair. His shoulders were wreathed in heavy layers of black material and, from under them, pale fingers twitched restlessly. Here, here truly was something to spur my disgust and my shoulders clenched to see the look in those eyes.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," Gandalf said in a strong, loud voice.

As Gandalf walked towards the King, Arí let the wizard walk slightly ahead, though still holding close to his back. I, Legolas and Gimli also pulled back slightly, feeling the hostility thick in the air. My eyes swept the room and I felt the presence of guards at my back. I exchanged looks with my other companions and I glanced to Arí to see her hand clenched somewhat at her side and her head twist slightly. Her signal was clear.

"Why... should I welcome... you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" I heard the King say slowly, voice raspy and hesitant with disuse.

"A just question, my liege." The snake said, stepping forward with a gloating expression, "Late is the hour in which this _conjurer_ chooses to appear. Lathspell spell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Silence ignorant fool," came the sudden, sharp voice of Aríanna. It was no surprise to me that the comment had fired her anger, "you speak of what you know not, the echoes of a liar. I need not rename you, for yours is well chosen, Wormtongue: you use your words as poison to twist your way yet you are but a phony evil, with no power of your own."

The man hissed at her words and his eyes were full of fire, yet they were subtle with a glint of something foul as his eyes ran over my aunt. I saw in his gaze that he at least recognised Arí, from some past visit.

"So the Witch comes forth again!" He mocked, full of hate, "You think you hold all answers, do you not, Felgalen*?"

"Keep your forked tongue behind you teeth." Gandalf growled, his voice dark and revolted, "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!"

The wizard straightened, tall and mighty, his staff coming into sight suddenly imposing and doubtlessly threatening.

"The staff!" Gríma hissed in panic, "I told you to get rid of the Wizard's staff!"

All around the room the guards jumped into action and I diverted my attention to them as they came at me and my friends. Elbows met flesh, feet and hands lashed out, twisting, pushing; it was simple, methodical movement designed not from the passion of hate but from necessity and sympathy. This was not the will of these men, or even that of their leader, but the orders of a blackmailing force. I could see in their eyes and it made it all the easier to deftly pass them on their way.

All the while Gandalf was moving to the King, and to Saruman, and I paid it little attention. Until the mocking laugh of the other wizard, through another's mouth, was cut off by Gandalf throwing his grey garment from his shoulders. The bright white of his robes shone out across the room and the shadows danced away. Light, power and freshness filled the darkened hall again and I breathed in deeply, proudly.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison from a wound," Gandalf said.

A figure, the Lady I had seen before, rushed in from the side, gold hair flying and face distraught. I grabbed her arm, holding her back and still she did not remove her eyes from the King, she pulled at my grasp.

"Wait," I said and she paused, whole body tense.

"If I go," Théoden growled, body pressed up against the throne and his eyes blazing with a hatred that was not his own, "Théoden dies."

"You did not kill me; you will not kill him!" growled the White wizard, magic thrumming from his very being.

"Rohan is mine!"

"Be gone!"

Suddenly the shrivelled King threw himself from his seat and Gandalf in turn thrust out his staff, each letting out a harsh cry. There was a flash and a moment of complete silence. The Lady by my side clenched as the King landed heavily on the steps and then wrenched herself from my grasp. Gandalf looked down on the figure, exhaustion but relief lying heavy on his shoulders and in his eyes.

I watched as light visible returned to the eyes of the King and heavy folds of age relaxed and fell away. White his hair had been, ashen and crisp as straw, but now I saw life return there too in the gentle gold hue. Years dropped away and his eyes focused on the Lady, recognition alighting in the depths.

"I know your face," he whispered and this time the remains of strength and individuality could be heard there too, "Éowen… Éowen…"

"Breath the free air again my friend," Gandalf said, stepping back as the King rose to his feet, the sobbing Lady Éowen looking up at him in wonder and joy.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 16<em>**

I was standing by the training field watching Arnor train with a visiting Dúnedain. He was nineteen now, and soon he would head out into the world and become a real ranger, just like his brother who had left two summers ago. I mourned the brothers leaving from the deepest, most fragile part of my heart but I knew that it was their path to take, even if they had to leave me.

I, too, had started to train under the elves, my father managing to convince Elrond at my insistent demands. It was as difficult as he and my cousins had told me, each day testing me more than the next, yet I felt a thrill of satisfaction every day when I returned to my rooms. Every time only increased my willingness, my determination, to do better and work harder. My instructors were shocked at my resolve, in fact the only people who were not seemed to be my two cousins.

Arathorn just laughed when he learnt, asking what they expected from a girl as stubborn as I. Arnor just took it in his stride and used it as another subject of competition between us.

Both brothers had grown handsome in the years, they had come out of their bow-limbed teens as fine young men and I would often feel an ache in my heart that they were so easily passing me by. Arathorn had grown into a firm wilful man, his face holding all the wisdom of our race, and the Dúnedain, despite his age, looked up to him as their leader. But in looks I thought it was the younger brother who most resembled our great forefathers. It was there in his eyes, in the quiet strength of his gaze, ready to be pulled up and show all the grandeur of what no amount of generations could remove.

Watching Arnor now though, I could still see that young playful boy beneath the rippling muscles of his back. I could not hold back a chuckle as he rubbed his arms, the strain of his new long sword showing. The heavy sword had been a gift from his father and he was meant to learn the basics of how to use it before he started going on duties.

Sensing my presence he turned from the rugged man in front of him and raised his hand to protect his eyes from the sun. He spied me from where I stood on a balcony above the field and he smiled seeing me, waving with his free hand.

"Lo, Elin*! How fares you, I thought you were training with Gwelwion?" he called up to me, grey eyes squinting against the bright light.

"Nay Arnor, not today," I replied, leaning out over the railing, "I was simply admiring your exceptional sword craft."

I laughed as he went red in the face.

"I'll get there eventually little gwethil*, don't you worry," he replied, still with a bright blush.

"Then I had best leave you, can't have you wandering about the wilderness not knowing which end of the sword to hold, now can we?" I laughed joyfully and left him to his fumbling.

I would miss our gentle banters, once he left with a raised chin and no backwards glance. Soon I would have just the serene elves for company and the gentle formalities of the ageless beings. Soon I would be alone, a black bird amongst the doves, waiting each day for news of my family. Waiting for the day I was given permission to join my kin.

I walked softly through the corridors, paying attention to the sun dappling upon the pale stone, the balustrades and ancient carvings. It was beautiful, all of it, so fresh and sharp and… alive yet it was no more than my home. I knew nothing more, nothing less.

I dreamt of the outside world, I dreamt of winding pathways that cut through drenching fog and then faded from even my far reach. I dreamt of the darkness and the eyes that followed the lightest foot print, of the gnarled faces, grimy and evil. I woke with sweat clinging to my skin and my hair sticking to my face. I woke with a pounding heart and a restless breath that was both frantic to come out yet was desperate to stay in.

It made me wish to leave even more, which obviously made no sense. Yet it seemed, to me, fitting. I did not wish to leave Imladris for excitement and beauty, nay. I left so that I could help… so I could… do something, anything to just, well, help. The dreams only served to show that I knew what I was giving up, what I was pushing myself into. My tutors thought I was juvenile, naïve and foolish. They thought of me as the young one, but they did not know me, they did not know.

"Mae g'ovannen*, fair Aríanna," a voice said behind me - an elven voice familiar to me.

I span around and my eyes rested on two figures walking side by side towards me. They were each tall, with hair dark as the crow falling straight from behind their long ears. Their eyes glistened with life and, while wise as any other, they were also youthful in their gaze. My face split into a grin and my cheeks flushed in betrayal.

"M-Mae g'ovannen, Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir," I said modestly, diverting my gaze from the twins, "I – I trust you are well?"

_Pathetic Arí, you try to persuade them you are grown up but as soon as a pair of brunette twins appear you're a blushing, stuttering – Ae! They're talking to you!_

"We heard that Gwelwion had to cancel today," Elladan was saying, leaning casually against the stone work.

"And my brother and I thought you may wish to go to the archery field," the other brother said, softly, catching my eye.

"- As father was speaking of resuming your scripture classes."

"So as to avoid him while the day is so glorious," Elrohir finished and they both smiled identically.

I really should have paid more attention to the mischievous glints in their eyes, perhaps then I would not have made such a fool of myself… regularly. As it was though, I was too flustered that they were inviting me, _Aríanna Arassuiell_, well, anywhere!

"Oh! I would most enjoy that," I replied truthfully and earnestly, my eyes lighting up.

"Fantastic! Let us go then, while Anor* shines above us so," Elrohir said in glee.

Elladan straightened, smiled again (I blushed,_ again_, and looked away), while Elrohir came to stand by my side, holding out his arm for me to take. I found I had the oddest desire to giggle – _giggle_ I tell you - and I forced the impulse down, mortified by my own thoughts, as I took the presented arm.

_Arnor is going to be insufferable should he hear of this…_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Translations:<strong>

*Gweston i de cherithon, pe iestog_: [I swear I will do it, if you wish]_

*Felgalen: This was a name I sort of put together myself. Tolkien based a lot of the Rohirrim language on Anglo-Saxon so I looked both at a Rohirrim and Anglo-Saxon dictionary (if anyone wants said sites message me). This name translates to Fel (wicked) – gál (enchanter) – en (female ending). **Wicked Enchantress**.

*Elin: _[Star]_

*Mae g'ovannen: _[well met]_

*Anor: _[A name for the Sun]_

* * *

><p><strong>Big thanks to: ChItalianese, Sara, This Is Gallifrey, Nessa Leralonde, Cheerfully Blue, Starlight5, Gwilwillith, Dalonega Noquisi - Especially you regulars! plus all the favouriters, adders, readers, everyone! I feel realllyyy bad about leaving this chapter so long... Please do review, even if it is just to say you liked it :) And I like constructive criticism almost as much as people saying they loved it, so if you have any points...<strong>

**Promise to make the next chapter sooner.**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Heya again, sorry for the delay. Chapter Nine here - All Betaed and beautiful - thank you ArwenJaneLilyLyra, for being a brilliant Beta even with all the stress and sadness happening on that side of the computer. I really could not have asked for better! **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

_She rested sore and healing hands_

_Upon his chest and on his brow_

_And whispered in her lilting voice_

_What elven love she was allowed_

_But nay, with sorrow in his gaze_

_It was not for them to be_

_For half of one and half of whole_

_Half mortal rooted heart was she_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 58<em>**

The land was quiet and chilled, with a sticky feel to the air that clung to my skin and made my clothes rub uncomfortably. I could hardly remember the last time I had felt dry, or even clean at all, for that matter. I had grown accustomed to this, though, in the month we had been travelling.

Arnor stirred the broth, stealing small glances at me as he did. He had still not quite gotten used to the idea of me being in the wild, even if I had been travelling like this for eight years. He looked weary and journeyed, and his hands were practiced at the smallest things he did. The fire, knife and needle were as familiar to him as his sword and bow.

I rested my back against the bark of the tree and stretched my legs outwards before me. Our silence was companionable, full of the ease of well known friends who had no need for conversation to communicate.

I tried as ever in these moments not to think of Arathorn, who used to complain of our bickering and constant chatter. Oh how would it be if he could see us now, our playful years behind and replaced with this gentle maturity of familiarity and long developed sorrows? Yes, sorrow. It still lay thick on us as we slept beside each other, or played with the child who had been left behind. It had been four years. Four years in which we had belatedly grown up, though we both were deep in our years.

I opened my eyes and saw Arnor watching me with a sad gaze. I sighed.

"Where is Aglar?" I asked, referring to our other travelling companion, a young Dúnedain boy who had come of age within the last few years.

"He has gone to leave a message in the inn. He will be back within an hour or so, should the inn keeper be little trouble," he replied, staring into the pot where his eyes had fled after meeting mine.

I nodded and crawled forward to feed our fire some more wood.

The silence fell again, but it wasn't long until Arnor, leaning back as he left the broth to stew a little more, broke it.

"Come, Arí," he said, beckoning me to his side where I laid my head upon his shoulder as we did when we were younger, "Tell me of Estel. I feel I still do not know the boy nearly as well as I should."

I grinned, thinking of the spirited young boy I had left behind me in Imladris. I quickly dove into tales of our young nephew, my voice full of unhidden joy and love. He really was a brilliant child.

"He reminds me a lot of you, when you were that age," I said, looking up at my smiling cousin.

He laughed.

"So you have said before; I fear however he has the mischief of his aunt, if Gilraen's words are anything to go by," he said and his hand carded through my loose hair.

I smirked.

"Aye... I may have encouraged that a little too much, I think."

I paused, then, biting my lip, weighing my words.

"He has Thorn's thoughtfulness, though," I whispered finally, and he fell quiet as we stared up at the tree veiled sky.

Suddenly we heard the crunch of footsteps and rapidly we were both were on our feet, hands on hilts. My eyes scanned around me for movement and I relaxed, seeing the familiar clothing of a ranger, a familiar face within. I let my hand fall but frowned when I saw another figure making their way to us beside Aglar.

It was a hunched man, old, I assumed, with a long grey beard and hair; he was shrouded in grey, also. He walked with a large wooden stick, seeming to lean heavily on it though to my eyes he did not seem as weak as his exterior spoke of. As he looked up I saw, with my sharp elven eyes, an aged face contrasted with bright, intelligent eyes which were a clear blue. Recognition spurred in my thoughts and my mouth fell open slightly in shock.

Arnor cried out in joy at seeing the new arrival and with little hesitation ran to greet the old man.

"Gandalf! It is well to see you, I had thought you away!" he said with a laugh and the man broke into a smile.

"Arnor son of Arador, well met," was the reply.

I could hardly believe I was meeting the wizard again: Gandalf the Grey, Mithrandir. We had met once, yes, but I felt suddenly disconcerted, shy almost, meeting him now away from the safe surroundings of Elrond's office. Out here in the wilderness the great and incredible stories associated with the Istar rushed into the forefront of my thoughts.

Aglar was nervously biting his lip and staring at the old man, as if he was being introduced to a great and well known lord. He glanced at me, taking in my wide mouth and I quickly snapped my jaw shut. He smiled slightly, then walked further into our camp, dishing out the forgotten stew into bowls.

I, meanwhile, turned to the wizard and my cousin, approaching them slowly. Gandalf looked up as I came closer and he smiled at me, blue eyes shining.

Arnor smiled and took one of my hands.

"Gandalf, this is my charming companion Aríanna of Rivendell, Arí this is Gandalf the Grey," Arnor introduced us and I bowed my head slightly to the wizard.

"Lovely to meet you once more, Lady Aríanna," he said in a deep booming voice that was calming but powerful.

He held my gaze and I saw something shifting in the depths of his old eyes.

Arnor blinked and looked between us.

"You have met before?" he asked curiously.

"Only once," I told my cousin, patting his shoulder lightly with an amused smile. I turned to the wizard. "It is a pleasure."

I remembered all of the stories that Elrond had taught me, the history lessons with no end or beginning.

_"The Istari came here from Valinor to aid us in the fight against darkness on behalf of the Valor. Five came: Curumo, Alatar, Olórin, Aiwendil and Pallando, though you shall know them by different names should you ever meet them. Each was given a colour and was banned from controlling the people of Middle-earth. They came in the form of old men. The most influential of these previously Maia spirits is Curumo, or Saruman the White, who is head of the White Counsel and is wise and well versed in law, and Olórin, Gandalf the Grey. Gandalf, of the five wizards, is the wisest and most powerful, despite not being the head of the order. He was a student under Nienna, who taught him wisdom and pity."_

Gandalf turned back to Arnor, though it felt to me as if his piercing gaze lingered upon me.

"I am need of assistance; I would not ask it of you had it not be of such a desperate matter," the wizard said in a hushed tone. Arnor frowned, once again the temporary chief of our people.

"If I can help I shall, though I know not why you should ask me," Arnor said.

"I trust you, something that is near scarce in these times," Gandalf answered and my cousin nodded in understanding.

"What is it?"

"I need someone to take a message to Lothlórien. There is a trouble growing on my mind and I do not have time to detour as I travel to Mirkwood," he replied and I looked to Arnor.

My brother was frowning and his fingers played with the hem of his tunic. He glanced at me and our eyes held, Arnor sighed and shook his head.

"That is a long road and I cannot leave now to take it. My people need me, I am sorry," he said with a heavy voice.

The Istar nodded solemnly, but I still saw a hint of the odd look in his eye, one which was almost amused, or cunning, perhaps. It was too intelligent.

"I thought as much, though I have been searching for you for many days," he said and this time it was I who frowned.

"Why then did you seek him if you knew of our situation," I asked forwardly, before biting my lip, wondering if I had spoken too much.

_Ha! Shy Arí? _I thought, berating myself.

The blue eyes turned to me and there was that same glint of mischief again. He arched an eyebrow in my direction, challenging. It hit me fast and apparently I wasn't the only one to whom it had come.

"NO! No way! Aríanna is in no way going that way!" Arnor cried out angrily, "I know of the trouble you feel brewing, Gandalf. I will not allow you to send my cousin on a path so close to Dol Guldur alone. I shan't!"

I held the wizard's gaze steadily, weighing the options carefully. It scared me, the ideas he proposed, for I had never travelled so far alone. I knew the roads, yes, barely, and my cousin did not lie, it did take me very close to Dol Guldur where hints of darkness had been brewing slowly, from what the wise had observed. But I was fifty-eight now, two years younger than the age at which my cousin had died. I had been an adult for eight years, or thirty-eight years if you considered me mortal – which I did. Was it not true that I wanted to travel and fight?

"- and Eruianna would have a fit – Elrond will-"

"I'll do it."

"-never allow – ARÍANNA ARASSEILL!" Arnor spluttered while Gandalf smiled.

"Very good, Elrond told me you would accept it," the wizard said with a chuckle.

"Elrond told- What?" Arnor stammered, his face turning red.

Gandalf smiled benevolently at my shocked cousin.

"The Lord Elrond recommended Lady Aríanna for the mission, though not without hesitation," he said simply, the last part spoken with a chuckle, before walking to where Aglar sat. I fancied I heard him mutter something else about persuasion but it was faint. Arnor started between us before clenching his jaw and glaring at me.

"You're _not _going," he hissed at me and I narrowed my eyes at him warningly.

Now, didn't _that _sound familiar.

"_You_ have no say in it," I bit back, my voice dark.

"It's not about say, I won't_ let _you," he said possessively and I sighed in exasperation and anger.

"Why not? You don't own me. We've been through this before. You're not my father and you have no say in what I do! I am not a child, Arnor; I stopped being a child a long time ago. You have no right-!"

"I WON'T LOSE YOU TOO!" He roared, and the small wood became silent as Arnor stared at the floor.

I was still for a moment, shocked, but I quickly shook myself. I stepped closer to my cousin, and wrapped my arms around his motionless form. He shifted slightly to press he face into my neck and I felt his heavy breath tickle my skin. I ran my fingers through his hair and bit my lip to prevent the tears.

Oh Arathorn, why did you have to leave us?

I felt his own tears fall wetly on my neck and I clung harder to him.

"Oh Arnor... Look at us, trapped in the past," I breathed into his ear, and I felt hot liquid escaping from my eyes, trailing over sensitive skin.

"I can't, Arí... I can't lose you so soon after..." he choked.

"I will not be caged, hanar. I cannot swap life for safety, and you know this. I told you this on my coming of age. It is the risk of life to die and I will not cling to that fear. I cannot promise, ever, to not die, but that is something you must learn to live with," my tears slowly died as I spoke and Arnor was still in my arms.

He pulled back and looked deep into my eyes as I stared into his own; a darker version of mine.

"You wish to go?" He asked, his voice broken.

"I wish to go," I nodded.

He paused, then placed a hand upon my cheek.

"Then I cannot, will not, stop you."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna - present<em>**

Like the merest spirits of memory we glided between the bowed heads of royally clad men, of proud spears raised to the sky. Beyond their path, the women cried and cold hands trembled in the early morning chill. There was silence. We, the guests, family and courts, moved down the city in the slow progression that followed only the dead.

King Théoden watched the body of his son exit his city and turn towards one of the mounds.

I stood by my companions, watching the aged eyes of the King, the stiff set of his shoulders, the heavily set lines of age returning. His face was still, blank with it all, and hollow eyes cried, silent for a hopeless cause.

The white faces stood out amongst the swamp of black clothing, the mourning eyes following the body of their Prince. It was beautiful, the silence and pain, bitter as the pale flowers that speckled Théodred's resting place. The air was icy and fresh, swift to cut through to one's heart and bare it for all to see.

The Prince's face was white and silent, the very pallor of death, yet restful and cleaned of his pains. He was clothed in finery, a noble man with a sword upon his breast, and all eyes were drawn to him as he made his way beneath the earth.

It was as his body descended into his tomb that the Lady, the White Lady of Rohan, broke into song. Amongst the silence her voice cut through, as clear as the biting wind, and as broken as the eyes of the King. It was in Rohirric, and the proud language engraved itself into the land, into my heart, catching my breath.

Pain, acute pain as sharp as the stab of a dagger, twisted in my heart and my breath came short. Images fell upon me with all the vitality of the actual moment; I heard in my mind the voices, my breath speeding up and desperate, even as his slowed. I saw the grey eyes stare up at me and then dull, a grimy, blood stained face relax. I felt the heart stop.

The heat of his fire warmed my face, burnt my hands; I watched as his whole body was consumed. The flames had danced high, and then they reached up to the heavens. And that single lonely star had brought him in. Lonely, I, a drifting grey figure, laid the fuel for his ascent, my ruddy hands blackening with soot and blisters.

Like Éowyn, I had sung to his soul, his beautiful mortal soul; but there had been no ears to hear me.

A hand fell on my shoulder and I looked up startled to find Aragorn watching me. My nostrils flared as I breathed in deeply and blinked away the burn in my eyes. I realised my hand had risen to grasp at my shirt, to grasp at the hard cylinder of black wood beneath. I released it and let my hand fall, even as Éowyn's voice continued. But the reminder was still there, I'd felt the weight of that shaft around my neck every moment since that day.

The tomb door shut.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Aríanna is 50 - Arathorn<em>**

The pair, my brother and my cousin, returned to the room. His face was pinked with tears and hers grim and stubborn. They did not look at one another but her steady hand drew him onto the floor where elves were already dancing.

I watched Arnor and her swirl on the dance floor slowly; they did not talk, nor smile, nor laugh. They just danced. It was strange, seeing them like that; it brought back memories… memories I had long tried to keep from reappearing. It was dangerous to know, or _think_ you know, too much. You begin to wonder, if you can change them, if you can twist the path of fate.

Such is the curse of foresight.

I thought of the last time, all those many years ago on a similar such evening. Then, they had spun with joy, just ready to relish in being, in dancing. She had been laughing at some joke and he was grinning as he looked down on her. I remember, then, Arí had been wrapped in a beautiful red dress with a black flower over her heart, and Arnor had been clothed in silver grey. They had not cared then and they took up the whole floor laughing and singing foolishly.

I remember the feeling, I could draw up the exact sensation I had had all that time ago as I stood and watched my brother and cousin, the two most important people to me.

A falling sensation, my glass had slipped through my fingers, deteriorating with a shatter, and my knees had trembled. My sight seemed to swirl and the image of their dance became drawn into a new image. It was an overlay, a duality of two moments. I was in the hall, I knew it for I could see the elves, the dancers, the walls and floors, but I could also feel trees bending over me, and a river to my left danced merrily. A clearing surrounded by bushes, and trees, and the sky up ahead a dark grey.

Dusk.

The sounds came to me as if from a far off distance, yet clear as the finest wine. It came to me in a wash of silence and, entangled within this quiet, the harsh sound of sobs, fast breath and frantic words. Precious words, a high pitched delicate voice, harried and full of... of the deepest pain. Then I saw them, they formed from the very sound, as if the sweet agonised voices were the very matter of memory, of the future. I saw them, just as I saw them dance.

Arnor lay with his head in Aríanna's lap, his eyes reflected the first star to appear but they were fixed on her face. Her hands were moving frantically over his naked torso. She was dressed in all silver grey and he wore red blood upon his gasping chest. A pattern of black spread from his heart just like the black flower pinned to her dancing figure in another time. The ends of silver hair dragged in the life liquid and the tips became darkened.

Her hands glowed, they glowed immortal with eternal beauty and grace, and she pressed them to the wound, to where a black shaft protruded.

Her grey eyes, in the dark, fled to meet with my brother's and her face was contorted and desperate. And Arnor opened his mouth and spoke to her, his voice holding the lightness and peace of one who knows and accepts their fate.

Then it had vanished, all of it, as if it were no more that the ripples in a lake, and I was watching a different pattern of red, black and silver. They had not noticed and they did not know. They didn't know I had just seen their future, their doom; my family.

"I know what you saw," a voice had said, and I'd become aware of Lord Elrond standing by me, holding the pieces of my cup, "I have seen it too. Who can say in such cases what is worst: the bitterness of mortality or immortality? And she shall know both."

"She is so sure that she knows…"

"But she cannot, and you cannot tell her. Fate has its own path and tomorrow shall always be different. Walk with me, Arathorn son of Arador..."

Now I stood and watched the two people dearest to me dance, just like I did before. She clothed in blue, him in gold, with desperate, poignant eyes that flickered only between themselves. I heard again the voice that had passed through the fabric of time and the webs of fate, coming to me as no more than the hush of a breath.

_"My heart shall rest here… I go now for the sun fades beyond my horizon. I am glad, so very glad, though it took me a while to see it... Farewell Lómëlennya, my Dusk Star." _

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><p><strong>AN: Thankyou my amazing reviewers! Cheerfully Blue, Dalonega Noquisi, Gwilwillith, ccgnme and Shower Singer, plus all of my adders and subscribers! You're all fantastic! I'm so glad you like my story and characters! <strong>_  
><em>


	10. AN HIATUS PLEASE READ

**HIATUS FOR**

**Black, White and Grey and Lómëlen**

**I told myself I wouldn't do this but the fact of the matter is is that I am too busy to write these stories at the moment. If anyone ever tells you doing 4 A-Levels is easy, well guess what, it is not.**

**I WILL CONTINUE WRITING AT A LATER DATE!**

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><p><strong>Readers of <span>Black, White and Grey<span>. I cannot even start to apologise, I have left it at the worst place *winces* but I _have_ been writing BWG for 15months people. _15 months_. I love this story, I love Lara and Alex, I am not going to just abandon them!**

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><p><strong>Readers of <span>Lómëlen<span>. There is NO WAY I'm abandoning this story. I have put way too much love and effort into Aríanna and there is still so much I have yet to show you. Be sure that I will be back. BE SURE. I have TONS of material on this story which I will not put to waste.**

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><p><strong>Please be patient I will be back. I don't know when - yet - but I will because I love these stories.<strong>

**~ Jenna Linda**


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